Conflicting Confidences
by HarleQueen21
Summary: When Joan is injured by a violent suspect, she and Sherlock explore a new dimension to their relationship, which moves beyond platonic. The partners must deal with development of their relationship, the aftermath of their first night together, and a case involving the kidnapping of two young girls, which leads them to a new villain seeking to destroy them both.
1. Chapter 1

*** Disclaimer: I do not own the Sherlock Holmes characters or Elementary, the latter of which is the property of CBS.

The room was uncomfortably warm, which was not helped by the fact that their air conditioning was broken. The suspect was sat at the desk, with Captain Gregson and Detective Bell sat on the opposite side. Sherlock was stood behind Gregson, leaning against the wall, arms folded, listening to the man's lies for the third time in as many days.

For the past week Sherlock and Joan had been working alongside the police on a case involving several missing women from across the tristate area. There had been six women reported missing, and very little had been established in terms of the current location or fate of the victims. The only plausible connection between them seemed to be that they had all visited the same free clinic in New York, where one of the women worked as a nurse. At the end of the week, and after much investigation, the body of the first woman who went missing was discovered. She was the nurse from the free clinic. After an interview with her family, including her new husband and teenage daughter, Sherlock realised that the husband was the perpetrator of the crimes. His discomfort, erratic behaviour and the fear his stepdaughter clearly felt towards him led Sherlock to delve further into the man's life. James Talbott had several convictions for domestic violence and stalking, and fit the profile of the man they were looking for. After being taken in for questioning by the police twice before, on the basis of correct assertions rather than concrete and unbreakable evidence, Talbott was finally brought back to the station for what the police believed would be the final time. Talbott was not worried, and refused the offer of a lawyer. Confident that the police had no tangible evidence against him, and that there was no way for them to obtain any, Talbott was sitting comfortably in his seat, his tired eyes watching the police with amusement.

"Mr Talbott, do you still deny any knowledge relating to the death of your wife, and the disappearance of the other five women?" Gregson asked, leaning forwards slightly, and resting his hands upon the desk.

Talbott sighed, leaned his head back, and folded his arms yet again, before looking from Gregson to Bell, over to Sherlock, and then back to his questioner. "As I told you guys already, I don't know anything about my wife's death or those missing women. I don't understand how many more times you want me to say it."

"At least one more, Mr Talbott." Began Sherlock, unfolding his arms and stepping forward a few steps. "It does amuse me enormously, watching you wrap yourself in yet another lie. Although I would strongly discourage you from continuing. You will regret it immensely in approximately sixty seconds' time." Sherlock pursed his lips and bounced on his heels, before placing his hands behind his back and staring intently at Talbott.

"Mr Holmes, I don't understand your fixation with me. You have no proof linking me to the death of my poor wife, or those missing women. So why have you brought me in this time?" Sherlock noticed that Talbott seemed mildly annoyed after finishing this statement, even slightly unnerved. This reassured Sherlock, who was excitedly awaiting how this appalling excuse for a human being was going to wriggle out of the hole which he had dug himself.

"It is the subject of your wife, Mr Talbott, which brings you back here. Indirectly, in a sense." Sherlock began, moving across the room, and standing behind Gregson's chair, staring down at Talbott. "It is your stepdaughter who you have to thank for your current predicament, and inevitable incarceration." Sherlock smiled, before continuing in a lower tone. "That girl is terrified of you, Mr Talbott. I cannot imagine the verbal and emotional abuse she has suffered at your hands, nor would I care to. But she is much stronger than you think." Sherlock paused, and glared at Talbott severely. His cool and collected exterior seemed to falter, and Talbott's eyes fell to the table, before meeting Sherlock's unflinching gaze. "My colleague and I talked with your stepdaughter, told her what we suspected you of, and assured her that we would not rest until you paid for your crimes." Sherlock continued to speak in a low, dangerous tone. "We also assured her that, whatever the outcome, we would personally ensure that she would be removed from your care and placed in a loving, stable household. After my colleague talked to her for a while, reassured her, and made her realise that she could be helped, your stepdaughter remembered something rather interesting." He stopped talking for a few moments, and watched Talbott's eyes shift uncomfortably from face to face, staring across the room and at the glass on the wall at the opposite end, as he took in Sherlock's words. "Your daughter remembered that, on the evening after your wife's disappearance, you shut yourself in the upstairs office for around an hour, and locked the door, which was fairly unusual. However, it was something you continued to do over the next two weeks, which coincided with the dates which the other women went missing." Talbott was starting to sweat slightly, and his blinking had increased rapidly. It took everything Gregson and Bell had not to interrupt Sherlock to illicit their own confession. But they trusted Sherlock, were aware of the success rates of his methods, and the effect of the consulting detective's approach on the suspect was profound. Sherlock unfolded his eyes, placed his arms by his side, and continued to talk. "She said this was highly out of character for you, although she was certainly glad that it meant you were away from her for several hours at a time. So, you can understand how curious my colleagues and I were at these little clandestine sessions." Sherlock leaned back on his heels and reached into the cardboard container on the desk, and lifted out an evidence bag containing a small memory stick, holding it up to the suspect's face. "Before you speak next, Mr Talbott, I must inform you that Captain Gregson, Detective Bell and myself have viewed the material on this memory stick, found in a hidden compartment in the desk in the aforementioned office space, and are, quite frankly, running out of time to listen to any more of your lies." He pursed his lips before placing the evidence bag on the desk in front of Talbott, and placing his arms behind his back. "Tell us where their bodies are, Mr Talbott."

The memory stick which was on the table in front of Talbott contained recordings of the suspect who was discussing, in detail, what had happened to the missing women. Talbott stared at the memory stick for a few moments, his mouth drying. He knew exactly what was on the memory stick, and was completely shocked that the police had found it. He also couldn't believe his stepdaughter had ratted him out. He sighed deeply, leaned back in his chair, and placed his hand in front of his mouth. "Okay." He began, leaning forwards. "Okay."

Twenty minutes later Talbott was handcuffed and led from the interview room, his confession secured, and his over-confidence destroyed. He knew how hopeless his situation was, that he could not hide his crimes any longer, and that he was now facing a very long prison sentence. As he was led through the precinct by Gregson and Bell, Sherlock walking slightly behind them, he paused. He saw his fifteen year old stepdaughter, Katrina, standing near one of the desks, staring at the ground. The woman who was working with Sherlock, Miss Watson, was standing next to her, her arm resting comfortingly across Katrina's shoulders. As soon as he saw Katrina, he felt his temper rising. He held her responsible for his current situation, and could not control his rage. He pulled away from Gregson and Bell and ran towards Katrina, his eyes blazing and his face bright red. Before anyone could react, Joan turned around, and caught sight of what was happening. Before Talbott could reach his stepdaughter, Joan moved in front of her and grabbed her would-be attacker, screaming at Katrina to run. She lost her grip on Talbott, who rose his cuffed hands and struck her hard across the face, causing her to fall to the ground, landing on her right arm. Her face felt as if it was on fire, and before she had time to move, he was leaning towards her once more. As she lifted her eyes up to meet his face, she felt her whole body tense in apprehension of the next blow. Joan could feel the left side of her face burning even more intensely than it had been moments before, and a small amount of blood had begun to trickle down her cheek. Before Talbott had a chance to strike her again, she saw his tall, broad figure pushed past her and slammed against an adjacent wall. It was Sherlock. Sherlock had run towards Joan and Katrina, but had not been able to reach them before Talbott hit Joan. The sight enraged him, and he threw the man against a wall, and began punching him mercilessly in the face. Joan stared, a mixture of pain and confusion etched upon her face. She forced herself up and staggered towards Sherlock, who was being pulled off the man by Gregson and Bell, but with relatively little success.

"Sherlock, Sherlock stop!" Joan yelled, fear and anguish evident in her tone. She sounded much less confident and authoritative than she believed she would. She sounded terrified. It was the tone, her voice, rather than her words, that drew Sherlock away from Talbott. He relinquished his grasp upon Talbott and walked quickly towards Joan, who was stood a few feet away from him. Joan's bright eyes glistened with tears, her face was stained with blood, and she was clutching her right arm with her left hand, and holding it closely to her side. From the look of it, Sherlock judged that it was dislocated. The whole room fell silent as he walked towards Joan, placing one hand on her unharmed cheek, and the other gently on top of her own hand which was gripping her arm. "Watson, I... I'm so sorry." He whispered, in a voice that seemed more pained than Joan's.

Joan stared at him for a few moments, unable to respond to his words. She was in pain, confused, tired and shocked from the escalation of the most recent events. She was equally as shocked at Sherlock's actions towards Talbott. His anger at him for his treatment of her was understandable, but she had never seen Sherlock so angry, so ruthless, and without the ability to stop. For a second, it had frightened her. But the moment she turned to him, and she saw the look in his eyes as he attempted to comfort her, she began to understand his reaction. Not condone it, of course, but she understood. She looked over Sherlock's shoulder and saw the bloodied prisoner being dragged away by a furious Captain Gregson, who was being escorted by Detective Bell and several other police officers. As they left, the precinct became quiet once more, with the silence being broken only by the gently sobbing of Katrina, who was slowly walking towards Joan.

"Miss Watson? Oh God, I... I'm so sorry." The teenager approached Joan, her sad, pleading eyes gazing at Joan's face. Joan was still reeling from recent events, and was only able to nod in response to Katrina's declaration, before the loudening of the girl's cry broke Joan from her thoughts.

"It's alright, Katrina. It's okay. It was not your fault, and it is alright now." Joan took a step towards Katrina and drew her towards her with her right arm, wincing as the girl's body was pressed against her right side. A social worker and a police officer came towards Joan and Katrina, and after a few kind words, led Katrina away. Joan watched her leave the precinct, before turning once more to face Sherlock, who was standing just behind her. She rose her eyes to meet his own, and watched curiously as his eyes surveyed her entire body, checking her for any additional injuries. Before he could say anything, she decided to speak. It was clear that he was shocked by his own actions, and was almost completely overcome by Joan's current state. He needed to be reassured. "Sherlock. Sherlock listen to me" she began, speaking softly as she approached him. "Sherlock, it's alright. I'm fine, just a little sore." She was lying, and they both knew it. Her facial injury was medically superficial, but her right shoulder was most definitely dislocated. "It's over, Sherlock. He's going to jail for a very long time, and Katrina will be safe now." His face expressed sadness, guilt and helplessness, and she placed her right hand comfortingly upon his shoulder, and drew his gaze towards her. "Sherlock, it's alright. You've calmed down now, but I think it's best that we leave."

Before she could continue, Sherlock nodded mechanically, and seemed to emerge from his thoughts by Joan's silence. "You require medical attention, Joan. I'll have one of the detectives drive us." He spoke in a low, subdued tone, and struggled to meet Joan's gaze. He couldn't bear to see the pain and sadness in her eyes. Joan nodded in assent, and he led her out of the precinct, attracting the attention of one of the detectives near the doorway, who drove them to the hospital.

After a two hour wait and one hour consultation, Joan was treated and released. The contusion to her face was painful and bruising, but the numbing agent used by the ER doctor meant that she did not feel a thing. Sherlock had stood by her side throughout the consultation and proceeding treatment, and had been watching the doctor's movements and Joan's reactions intently, though he barely spoke a word. When the doctor moved to relocate her shoulder, Joan reached out and gripped Sherlock's hand, more to reassure him that to brace herself against the pain. He turned immediately towards her, squeezed her hand comfortingly, and felt Joan's body relax at the touch, before tensing as the doctor counted back from three. Joan suppressed a scream as her shoulder was relocated, and Sherlock moved to comfort her as the doctor moved to collect a sling. Joan looked up to face him, and held his gaze for a few moments, as he surveyed her arm and nodded with satisfaction. She smiled weakly at him, which he tried to return, before sitting beside her on the hospital bed. Her arm was placed in a sling, and she was prescribed some pain medication and a sedative, which she claimed not to need and, as such, did not collect from the pharmacy as they left, much to Sherlock's concern and protest. Joan insisted she was fine, and just wanted to go home. The exhausted look on her face and the sadness in her eyes prevented Sherlock from pressing the issue further, and he placed his right hand on her lower back as he escorted her from the hospital. They were met by Gregson, who apologised to Joan profusely, before assuring Sherlock he would not face criminal charges. Sherlock nodded politely, thanked the Captain, and apologised for his conduct. Gregson nodded, before stating that he wanted to drive them home personally. Sherlock held the car door open for Joan, and she eased herself slowly inside. Sherlock walked around to the other side of the car and sat with her in the back seat, the cool air of the late evening soothing and restoring him temporarily.

"I am sorry, Watson." He stated in a low tone as the car drove through the busy New York streets, which were bathed in the artificial yellow lights of the lampposts. "I don't quite know what came over me." He paused for a moment, and even in the relative darkness he was aware that she had shifted her position and was now facing him, and waited patiently for him to continue. "When I saw him rush towards you, and then you fell to the ground, I-" he broke off, sighing in exasperation, and rubbing his face with both hands before continuing. "I lost my temper, Joan, and I am sorry that it happened. And I am even more sorry that you had to see it." Joan nodded in the darkness, which she was sure Sherlock would have noticed. She understood his anger, and was grateful for his remorse for his actions. She was also deeply touched by his sincere and earnest apology. She shifted in her seat, facing him more directly, and placed her left hand over his own hands, which were clasped and resting in his lap.

"I know." She said calmly, her voice warm and comforting. "I know." She squeezed his hands reassuringly, and they remained in that position for the next ten minutes of the journey, until they arrived at the brownstone. Gregson parked the car and got out immediately, walking around to Joan's side, opening the door, and helping her out of the car. Sherlock moved slowly around to join them, and stood at Joan's side, looking from her to the Captain, who nodded to Sherlock reassuringly. Although he did not approve of Sherlock's actions, Gregson understood them completely, and each time he looked at Joan's injured face or bandaged shoulder which was resting in a sling, his understanding broadened. Despite this, he did not agree with Sherlock's actions, and it caused him the same amount of concern as it had Joan.

"Will you guys be okay tonight?" He asked, placing his hands deep in his pockets as the cold air revitalised them, making Joan herself feel slightly more awake.

"Yes, Captain, we'll be fine, I assure you. I will make sure Miss Watson is looked after." Sherlock stated in a calm tone, his voice almost sounding normal.

"Yes, thank you, Captain, for everything." Joan stated, smiling at Gregson as he looked from Sherlock to Joan. The Captain nodded, wished them a "good night", and then got back into his car, before slowly driving away into the darkness. Sherlock and Joan stared after him for a few minutes, before the latter placed his hand on Joan's lower back, drawing her attention from the darkness on to him.

"Shall we go inside, Watson? You must be exhausted." He asked kindly, his tone reassuring her. She walked slowly towards the house, with Sherlock by her side. His hand on her lower back and his close proximity to her made Joan feel safer and more comforted than she realised she could.

"You know, I'm not actually tired any more. I feel wide awake."

Sherlock did not respond immediately to her statement, but slowly nodded his head as he unlocked the front door and held it open for her. "Nevertheless, Watson" he began, as she walked slowly past him and entered the house, "I think you would feel much more comfortable if you were in your own room, resting. It is very late, you have been up for over twenty hours, and you have been through a traumatic incident from which you will need an unspecified amount of time to recover, both physically and mentally." He paused, looking at her kindly as he helped her with her coat and hung it up on the coat stand. "This process will be assisted by rest."

Joan sighed and nodded slowly, before looking up and meeting his gaze. "Goodnight." She stated sweetly, offering him a small, genuine smile. Sherlock watched her walk up the stairs slowly, and remained at the foot of the stairs for a few moments after he heard her door slowly close. He then strode confidently into the kitchen, and began to prepare her some of her mother's special tea, which he was sure would relax her and help her rest. He placed a cup and tea pot full of the tea on a wooden tray, and carried it up to her room. Before he could knock on the door, he heard her hiss sharply in pain, and he pushed the door open quickly with her right elbow, before entering immediately.

"Watson?" He stated, panic evident in his voice. As he stepped into the room, Joan turned to face him. She was stood by her bed, her sling lying on her bedside table, and was trying to undo the buttons of her blouse. She had successfully undone the first four from the top, and had given up on the last button, and was trying to shake the blouse over her hips. She looked up to see Sherlock and gasped, trying to cover herself with a shirt which had been discarded on her bed. Sherlock turned away and stammered an apology, explaining his entrance into her room, and holding up the tray of tea for emphasis. She smiled, laughed nervously, and walked slowly towards him.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Would you put it over there?" He looked over to her and followed her hand, which was indicating the table next to her bed. He moved towards the table and placed the tea tray carefully upon it, before turning slowly to see Watson standing in front of him, still clutching the shirt to her chest. Sherlock felt more guilty than he had before for bursting into her room, and even more so for causing her to feel uncomfortable and exposed. He apologised once more, and she smiled at him comfortingly, assuring him it was fine.

"Don't worry about it, really. Although, as you're here, could you help me with something?" She asked, moving slowly towards him. Sherlock nodded immediately, grateful that she was asking for his assistance. It demonstrated that she was not as angry with him as he had initially feared. In fact, she did not appear to be angry at all. She walked slowly towards him and looked slightly sheepish, her cheeks flushing wish embarrassment. "It's just... I can't quite get this last button undone, and my arm is really hurting. I'm sorry to ask, but would you mind-?"

"Yes, yes of course." Sherlock asked, maintaining a steady and confident tone. He wanted to sound as normal and as professional as possible, in order to make her feel less uncomfortable about her request. He moved across the room to meet her, and she continued to hold the spare shirt to her chest as Sherlock leant down and carefully undid the last button to her blouse, which then fell to the floor. She thanked him, and covered herself more with the shirt. He looked up at her and nodded briskly, before searching for something to say to her before leaving. As he tried to speak, he noticed her shoulder for the first time. It was bruised and slightly swollen, and there was a small contusion to her shoulder blade which was bleeding slightly. He placed his hand in his pocket and drew out a navy handkerchief, before raising it slightly towards her arm. "May I?" he asked in a quiet but gentle tone, which touched Joan deeply.

"Uh, yeah, of course." She responded, uncertain of what he was about to do, but sure that there would be a reason. He stepped closer towards her, until there bodies were just a couple of inches apart, and placed the handkerchief delicately upon her shoulder blade, applying some gentle pressure, before removing it slowly and dropping it on the bedside table next to her tea. He watched the handkerchief for a few moments, before returning his gaze to Joan, who had been silent for the past few moments.

"Watson, I... again I want to apologise to you, not only for my regrettable conduct, but for the events which led to it." Joan watched him intently for a few seconds, uncertain of what he meant. "I should never have let him touch you." Sherlock stated, exhaling slowly as he avoided her gaze.

"Sherlock" she began, drawing his eyes back towards her with her gently voice. "Sherlock, I need you to listen to me really carefully." She paused, and his eyes turned to meet hers. She seemed to be much better than she had been, and was very confident and alert, which reassured him greatly. "This was not your fault, none of this was. He was angry at his stepdaughter for her role in his arrest and incarceration, and he acted out of anger and out of cruelty." As she spoke, realisation dawned upon her, and she looked up into his eyes. "You are nothing like that man, Sherlock. He is a psychopath who hurt innocent women, and wanted to harm Katrina out of anger and misplaced blame. You acted without planning, without intention, and without cruelty. You were provoked in the extreme, and while what you did was wrong, it cannot be compared to his actions." She spoke warmly, yet with compassion and sincerity. He watched her carefully as she spoke, and listened to every word. "Sherlock, you are nothing like that man. You are" she paused, and smiled kindly at him, as she placed her hand gently upon his right arm. "Sherlock, you are wonderful."

Sherlock looked down at her uncertainly for a moment, before being reassured by her kind eyes and sincere tone. He nodded slowly, never breaking her gaze. He looked down at her hand which was resting upon his arm, then returned his attention to her shoulder, before looking at the bruising on her face which was turning a deep purple shade. He rose his hand slowly and extended his fingers, retracting them before they touched her face, and staring once more down towards the floor. Sensing his sadness and his fear, Joan wanted to reassure him. She placed her own hand upon his own hand, entwined their fingers, then released her hold slowly, and drew her hand towards her face, placing his fingers gently upon her cheek. His gentle touch reassured them both, and Sherlock could feel her warm skin beneath his touch, as he ran his fingers slowly down her cheek. "I'm sorry" he whispered absent mindedly as his fingers reached the bottom of her jaw, before he lowered his hand and she wrapped it in her own. "Watson I... I am truly sorry." His eyes were wide, and he pursed his lips as he stared at the floor.

Joan moved one step closer towards him, their hands still entwined, and called his name, causing him to rise his head. Their faces were inches apart. "Sherlock, you have nothing to apologise for. And you saved me." She stated simply, her voice retaining the same kind and gentle tone which defined her. "You stopped that man hurting me any more than he already had. And for that, I should be thanking you. And so I do." She paused, and gazed deeply into his eyes. "Thank you, Sherlock." She stated, barely above a whisper.

Sherlock returned her stare and gripped her hand tightly, not blinking as their eyes held each other's gaze, and he felt something. And so did she. Without warning and without immediate explanation, Sherlock and Joan leaned forward at the same time, their eyes closing, and kissed each other gently upon the lips. Sherlock placed a hand gently on Joan's un-bruised cheek, and exhaled slowly, before they opened their eyes at the same time. They stared uncertainly at each other for a few seconds, before they both closed their eyes and began to kiss again, more passionately and more deeply than before. Sherlock kept his hand upon Joan's cheek, and moved his other hand to her lower back, drawing her closer to him. She responded immediately, raising her uninjured hand and placing it on his neck, pulling him closer to her has they kissed. Slowly, Joan opened her eyes, and paused their kissing for a few seconds as she moved her hand slowly down his back. Her eyes were bright and wide, and she exhaled deeply as they shared a deep, loving look. She ran her fingers down his back and across his side, before placing her hand in his and entwining their fingers. She turned slowly, and led him towards her bed. He followed her willingly, albeit slowly, and they both sat on her bed, turned towards each other, and began to kiss again. He placed his hand on her uninjured shoulder and ran it gently down her arm, tilting his head and kissing her more passionately and more intensely than before. Joan moved closer to him, and began to slowly unbutton his shirt, with the same gentleness and slowness as Sherlock had adopted when he helped her with her blouse. She undid all the buttons before brushing the shirt off of one of his shoulders, and Sherlock shrugged off the rest, causing it to fall gently onto the ground. Joan opened her eyes for a moment, and drew her face away from Sherlock's as she traced the tattoos on his chest with her left hand. She smiled gently, looking back up towards Sherlock, whose eyes were following her every movement. Without speaking, and without hesitation, Sherlock drew Joan close to his chest, before easing her gently onto the bed, ensuring her head was supported by her warm pillows. He kissed her gently on her neck as he rested a few inches above her, running his hand down her side, and being careful to avoid her right hand side. For the next few hours, they remained together, slowly removing more articles of clothing as the darkness deepened and flooded the room. Sherlock and Joan held each other close, kissing passionately, entwining their hands and wrapping their legs around each other, drawing them as close to each other as they were capable of being. They never once spoke, they had no reason to. The words they wished to say, the feelings they wanted to convey, were revealed by the glances they shared. That night, Sherlock and Joan slept together for the first time, and lay in each other's arms until the morning light flooded the room, revealing their entwined bodies covered in a thick, white blanket. For the next seven hours they slept, peacefully and dreamlessly, in each other's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

Joan's eyes opened gradually, and she blinked repeatedly as she adjusted to the new brightness of the room, with the early morning light flooding into her room. She was leaning on her left side, facing towards the window, which was the source of a cool and refreshing breeze which was gradually entering the room. Her right shoulder still hurt, in fact the pain had worsened overnight. She guessed that she must have moved around in her sleep and placed pressure on it at one point, aggravating the injury. As she slowly moved to pull herself into a seating position in bed bed, memories of the night before flooded her mind. She turned around slowly, gathering the blankets towards her, and looked down onto the bed. Sherlock's peaceful, sleeping figure was lying next to her. She stared at his face for a minute, and was completely absorbed in his expression. He seemed to be calmest and most content that she had ever seen him be before. She had seen his asleep plenty of times, but never with such a peaceful and sombre expression on his face. She remembered everything about the night before, and was currently feeling both emotionally conflicted and in physical pain, which was not a great combination when the need to be able to think straight was necessary. She slowly eased herself forward, planted her feet on the floor, and wrapped one of the blankets across her body. She took a couple of steps towards the window and allowed herself to be immersed in the beautiful morning light, as the cool breeze tingled against her skin, feeling soothing against her aching cheek. She felt revitalised, much more awake, and all of a sudden much more afraid. She was surprised that they had both given in to themselves so completely the night before. The day had not been a normal one, she mused. There had been a lot of pain, hurt and confusion, and amid all the conflict, she and Sherlock had let themselves go for just a moment. They had lost their inhibitions, all the reasons why they knew they should not, and they gave in. Their need to comfort one another, to demonstrate how much they felt for each other, overwhelmed them, and defied their abilities to think logically or rationally. Despite this, and despite her fears, Joan did not regret what happened. But she did not know how Sherlock would feel, how he would react to such a dramatic shift in their relationship. This made her feel afraid.

She was not sure how long she remained standing by the window, going over her thoughts, worries, and considering the best way to discuss the last night with Sherlock, but she was soon brought from her thoughts by the sound of movement near the bed. She turned slowly and cautiously, and found herself facing a now very awake and alert Sherlock Holmes, who was standing on the other side of her bed, staring at her intently. In the time it had taken her to turn around, Sherlock had pulled on his trousers and was now stood facing her, standing in a way which reminded her of their very first encounter. She drew the blankets closer to her and met his gaze, which neither of them broke for several minutes. Sherlock's eyes slowly drifted from Joan to the bed, and back to Watson. He had woken moments after she had, and had been watching her standing by the window, bathed in the morning light, wrapped in a thin white blanket. She was beautiful. Without the inhibition of physical pain, Sherlock had been able to think about the night before in more detail and to a greater extent than Joan had. Like Joan, he remembered a lot of the night before, and in much more detail. He had been going over the events which led up to their current situation, trying to understand how it had happened. Logic and reason had given way to rationalisations, and found himself arriving at the same conclusion Joan had: that they had both been through an incredibly emotionally charged and traumatic experience which caused the barriers which existed between them to break down, leading them to surrender themselves completely to one another, in a desperate attempt to comfort and console the other. Sherlock understood this, and knew it happened thousands upon thousands of times to individuals all across the world. What he did not know, and was not expecting, was how he was feeling right now, standing in the aftermath of their actions. He felt happy. Or at least, he felt as happy as he was capable of feeling. But these feelings were slightly abashed by the look on Joan's face.

Joan watched Sherlock for a few minutes, before looking towards the ground, around her bedroom, and then back to him. Her face, once calm and content, had now acquired a more concerned and worried expression, which Sherlock noticed almost immediately. He also sensed that she was experiencing pain as a result of her injuries. Joan was holding the blankets closely to herself, and her left hand was holding her right arm in a vice-like grip, which alerted Sherlock to the amount of pain she must be in. Joan drew his attention from her arm to her face by slowly brushing some hair from her cheek. As she pressed the hair behind her ear, she became aware that she had somehow aggravated the cut on her cheek, and was bleeding once more. Without thinking, Sherlock picked up the handkerchief which had been discarded on the bedside table the night before, and made his way quickly over to her. She did not move away from him, say anything, or indicate that she wished him to leave. Instead, she stood motionless, staring at him in amazement. The events of the night before, and the significance on their potential to impact their existing relationship, was beginning to hit her. He suddenly felt more afraid and more wary than she had in the past few minutes since waking up. As she saw him crossing the room towards her, she was struck not by regret or fear, but by desire. Seeing him coming towards her with such concern and compassion took her breath away, and she was grateful for it. But she also knew that there was a high price to be paid for such a change in their relationship. She also knew that the one paying the highest price for this change would be Sherlock, and suddenly she became awash with fear for his well-being and his stability. As she opened her mouth to speak, Sherlock had arrived by her side, and was holding the handkerchief to her face and applying a gently amount of pressure. She rose her hand slowly towards her face, intent on relieving him of the handkerchief, and for just a second their fingers touched. In that moment she felt an indescribable draw towards him, a need to be close to him once more. She looked slowly up to him, and found his wide, alert eyes staring intently into her own. Before she could break his gaze, or say anything at all, he spoke.

"Watson, are you quite alright?" He asked kindly, in a quiet tone. She knew that he was not just talking about her injuries. There was a few seconds of silence before Joan felt able to speak. It was as if his presence, his proximity, had removed from her the ability to think and to form words. She attributed this to the pain she was experiencing also, and was completely at a loss as to why she was struggling to think clearly.

"Yes." She responded, in an equally quiet tone, surprised at the innocence of her own voice. "Yes I'm fine. Thank you." She stated, indicating the handkerchief. Sherlock nodded, and remained standing just a few inches from her for a short time, before taking a few steps back. He did not want her to feel crowded. He remained staring at her intently, confusion etched on his face, and Joan began to feel guilty and afraid once more. "Sherlock, I know you won't want to, but we really do need to talk about this." She spoke calmly and kindly, never once breaking eye contact with the consulting detective. She expected him to refuse, or make some witty yet evasive comment before rushing from the room. But he didn't. Instead, he held her gaze for a few moments longer, and nodded.

"Of course, Watson. Yes." He paused, his tired voice regaining some composure and confidence. He was beginning to sound like himself once more, which reassured Joan. "I will leave you to get dressed, and will be downstairs when you are ready." He spoke kindly to her, without any undertones of sarcasm or levity in his voice. Joan also realised that he did not sound afraid, or angry by what had passed between them the night before. She nodded to Sherlock, thanked him sincerely, then watched as he slowly turned around and crossed the room, collecting his clothing as he did so, before leaving the room and closing the door gently behind him. When he left, Joan leaned back against the window, the cold glass pressing against her burning shoulder, providing her with some comfort. She clasped her hand to her mouth, inhaled deeply, and tried to recover her breathing. The reality of the night before was beginning to hit her, and she was suddenly overcome with self-remonstrations for allowing it to happen. But these remonstrations were rebuffed by her innate feeling that what happened the night before was not wrong, or misguided, or something that she would regret. She felt more conflicted than she ever had, with one part of her basking in the beauty of the previous night, and another part telling her that it was a dangerous and illogical thing to do, which would have permanent repercussions on her relationship with Sherlock. Once she had begun to breathe normally once more, she slowly made her way over to the bed, and stared at the spot where Sherlock had been sleeping. As she did so, she allowed the blanket to fall from her body, and was immediately aware of how cold the room now felt. She walked across the room to her mirror, and gazed at her reflection for a few moments, before using some of the cotton wool on the dressing table to clean the laceration on her face. It was at this moment that she realised that she was still holding his handkerchief in her hand. She drew it closer to her face, staring at herself in the mirror as she did so, and was comforted by his scent. She abandoned the cotton wool and continued to use the handkerchief to clean the left side of her face, which was starting to purple slightly. She carefully applied her make-up, adding extra concealer and foundation in an attempt to cover her bruises. She was marginally successful in this mission, and felt more confident as she stared at her reflection. She was looking more normal, more like herself, and she hoped this would give her the strength she needed to face Sherlock and discuss the night before with him.

Joan rose slowly from her seat and walked across to her wardrobe, selecting clothing which she felt able to put on, given her injury. She selected a black skirt and tights, a white vest and a tight fitting light pink jumper. She dressed herself slowly and with great care, finding her pain to be more manageable than she initially believed. She stood in the room for another few minutes, staring at her reflection in the mirror, thinking over what she should say. She stayed like this for several minutes, before slowly making her way towards her door, and reaching for the handle.

After leaving Joan's room, Sherlock immediately retreated to his own, closing the door gently behind him, before leaning against it. He applied all of his body weight to the door, leaning forward slightly as he placed his hands over his face, before straightening up immediately and dropping his shirt, socks and shoes to his side. He inhaled deeply, leaned back into the door, and stared at the ceiling for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. Like Joan, he did not regret the night before, but he was concerned about the aftermath, and he was concerned about her. She had been in pain, she was frightened, and he had been trying to comfort her. He was worried that she would resent his actions, and would regret what had passed between them the night before. The idea of Joan being hurt or upset by him, feeling as though he had let her down or played a part in the disintegration of their relationship, filled him with more guilt than he felt able to bear. He adored Watson, and would never knowingly do something which would compromise her happiness or contentment. But he feared that, the night before, he may have done just that. As he walked around his room, selecting new clothes to wear and putting them on, he decided to listen to everything she had to say, be attentive and considerate, and agree to whatever terms she suggested. He would do anything he could to ensure that she felt happy and comfortable in their home. He just hoped that it was not already too late. He inhaled deeply, nodded to himself, and walked towards the door.

Sherlock and Joan arrived downstairs within a couple of minutes of each other. Joan had been the first to stroll cautiously into the kitchen, before boiling the kettle and preparing some tea. By the time the mugs were poured full of the hot, comforting liquid, she heard the familiar sound of Sherlock's tentative steps descending the staircase. She turned from the work surface as he walked in to the kitchen, wearing an expression of worry and apprehension. Joan wanted to place Sherlock instantly at his ease, and make him feel as comfortable as possible so that they could discuss everything carefully and maturely. She offered him a kind, reassuring smile, which he was grateful for, before turning back towards the counter to pick up both mugs of tea. Remembering the pain in her arm, she hesitated, and stood staring at the mugs for a few seconds. In this time Sherlock, realising the issue, walked cautiously over to her side and picked up both mugs, lifting them from the counter. As he approached her, she inhaled deeply, and felt both reassured and comforted by his presence. She thanked him kindly, then followed him over to the table, where they both sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping slowly on their tea.

"Sherlock, I" Joan began, her gaze falling from him to her tea, then back to his face. He was watching her carefully, waiting for her to continue speaking. "I want to apologise to you, for last night. I know what happened was because of... the emotions of the day, the trauma, the fear. We let them overtake us, and those emotions guided our actions." She paused for a few minutes, watching him for a response. He nodded perceptibly, relinquishing his hold on his tea, and clasping his hands in front of him. He looked up at her once more, listening intently. "We both acted on those emotions, we both sought something which we felt the other could... provide." She continued, pausing for a moment as she readjusted her hold on her mug. "After what happened yesterday, it is understandable that we acted in a way which is not... consistent with how we normally would. And I want you to know that it is fine. What happened has happened, and we can deal with it. We will deal with it. But it is important for us to discuss what happened, discuss it openly and together, and to figure out how to deal with it. And to start that off, I want to apologise to you, Sherlock. For my part in last night, for putting you in that situation." She pursed her lips together briefly as she avoided his gaze, staring at her tea for a few seconds before looking back up to him and continuing. "I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, or if I led you towards doing something you perhaps-"

"Watson, I assure you" Sherlock began, his voice kind but quiet. "You did absolutely nothing wrong. You did not coerce or manipulate me into anything, nor did I, I hope you understand, intend to do anything like that to you." He paused as he watched Joan's face. She nodded quickly, and relief seemed to grace her features, which Sherlock was glad of. "I believe you are right, in what you said, Watson. What happened was the direct result of an emotionally fraught and highly traumatic day in which we both" he paused, trying to form the words. "in which we both acted instinctively, without thought and without predetermination." She placed his hand back onto the mug, and moved It a few inches across the table, before slowly drawing it back towards him. "I also agree with what you said regarding the need to discuss this openly. As such, I feel the need to tell you, Watson, that last night is not something either of us should regret or lament. And I would like to tell you that I am sorry, if you feel that I took advantage-"

"No, Sherlock, no. No, absolutely not. You did not take advantage of me, if anything I am the one who-" she paused, uncertain of how to continue. Sherlock was clearly beginning to feel uncomfortable, and the thought that he believed that he took advantage of her somehow concerned Joan deeply. "Sherlock, listen to me." He looked up at her, and she met his gaze confidently and with great conviction. "the events leading up to... to what happened may seem confusing to us both. But what I am not confused about is-" she paused, uncertain of how to continue, "is that last night, I wanted it to happen. We both did. Neither one of us took advantage of the other. We both allowed this to happen, and we will both deal with this, alright?" Sherlock looked up at her, and believed each word she was saying. She was clearly being sincere, and did not appear to bear any ill-feelings towards him for the night before. As this dawned on him, Joan saw the same mixture of relief and happiness affect him as he had seen upon her just minutes before.

"Thank you, Watson." He stated finally, his voice sounding almost normal. "I am very grateful for your candour and your kindness. And I hope to demonstrate to you, in my handling of this, that I am worthy of both of those." He paused, and Joan continued to watch him intently, waiting for him to continue. "You are right, of course. And I am quite certain that we will be able to resume our normal working relationship, which will be instrumental in our handling this."

Joan nodded, and smiled kindly and gratefully at Sherlock. "Yes, Sherlock. You're right." She stated, her voice also returning to normal. "I heard your phone ringing whilst you were on your way down the stairs." She continues, drawing his attention back towards her. "Do we have a case?"


	3. Chapter 3

The next couple of months passed much more smoothly than either Joan or Sherlock could have anticipated. During this time they worked on several cases both privately and in conjunction with the police, bringing each to a quick and satisfactory close. Despite the ease with which they found themselves working together after the night they spent together, something had definitely changed in their relationship. Joan found that Sherlock seemed much more receptive and open to conversations with her which h would usually have attempted to avoid or gently mocked. She also noticed that he had been acting in a much more considerate manner, mainly in terms of cleaning up after himself, giving her more than five minutes notice before they needed to leave the house, and not turning up in her bedroom unannounced at some ungodly hour. Although she was grateful for these changes, they did concern her. She was worried that Sherlock was changing his behaviour intentionally, due to some misplaced sense of duty to her after the night they shared, or perhaps due to his guilt and concern regarding his belief that he initiated the events of that evening. Joan had continued to act as normal, mainly in order to make their working relationship as stable as it could be, but also in an attempt to ease Sherlock's concerns. She had not brought up the issue with him in conversation, but decided that she would in a week or so, if he was still acting unusually. It had also occurred to her that his recent behaviour could have been unrelated to their romantic encounter, and due to the fact that she had been injured. In the weeks that followed her attack, the cuts to her face healed quickly, and her cheeks were once more soft and unblemished. Her shoulder took slightly longer to heal than she had expected, which was a source of great frustration to her, not simply because it impeded her work with Sherlock, but because it temporarily stopped her from running each morning. She found that her early morning runs invigorated her, prepared her for the day ahead and released her of the stress which she found herself carrying from days or weeks beforehand.

Therefore, Joan was particularly happy on this warm spring morning, just over eight weeks after the incident at the precinct, when she finally felt well enough to go running again. Due to her enthusiasm, she woke up unnaturally early for herself, and was dressed and running through the park by half-past six. The warm sun, cool air, and the scent of the freshly cut grass made her feel healthier and more awake than she had done in the past few weeks, and she was grateful that her arm seemed to be coping well with the resuming of her exercise routine. However, about thirty minutes into the run, Joan felt her breathing change slightly, and she began to feel slightly light headed. She stopped immediately, removed her earphones, and walked over to a nearby bench, where she sat down for a few minutes as she regained her breath and her energy. She had never felt this light-headed whilst running before, and she was not even pushing herself as much as she usually would, due to the fact that she was still recovering from her injury. After sitting down for a few minutes, and feeling slightly better, Joan mused that the reason behind her dizziness must have been that she was pushing herself slightly more than she ought to have been. Perhaps her body was not quite ready for a return to running. She sighed in frustration, and picked up her earphones before selecting another song. Checking the time, she realised that she had just over an hour until her doctor's appointment, in which her arm would be checked over for the final time, and she hoped to receive the all clear. As she stood up, she was once again hit with a wave of dizziness, which struck her much more strongly than it had done the last time, and she almost fell back onto the bench. Joan breathed in deeply, resting her head in her hands, as she tried to calm herself. She was beginning to wonder whether she had impeded her recovery and her health by running this morning. Although she had not pushed herself to her full potential, she had still ran for approximately three miles, for the first time in months, which could explain her dizziness. After she remained seated for a few more minutes, she stood up slowly, took a few cautious paces forwards, and began to walk through the park. As she was just over a mile from home, she hailed a cab which had just dropped off a passenger, and decided to be driven home instead of walking.

As she arrived home, Joan slowly made her ways up the steps towards the brownstone. Before she could reach for her key, the door was opened from the inside, and Sherlock greeted her pleasantly.

"Ah, Watson, you have returned." He stated, moving aside and holding out his arm, indicating for her to enter. "You left earlier than usual." Sherlock seemed to be in a rather chipper mood, and was moving animatedly around the brownstone, collecting papers and pulling on his jacket.

"Yeah, I did. I was restless and couldn't wait to start running again." She replied, removing her jacket and she walked through the corridor, paying relatively little attention to what he was doing.

"And yet you took a taxi home. Why?" Sherlock asked, placing some files under his arm before turning towards her. Joan tilted her head slightly to face him. He did not seem concerned by this change in her routine, merely curious.

"Yeah, it was more tiring than I thought it would be. I guess I pushed myself too hard." She stated calmly, as she began to unlace her running shoes. Sherlock nodded in response, and walked quickly past her and into the living area.

"Well, your return is rather fortunate, Watson. I was just about to call you. Captain Gregson called me a few minutes ago, and requires our presence at the precinct." Sherlock turned towards Joan and leaned back on his heels, and she noticed the animated and excited expression in his eyes. He was clearly itching to leave for the precinct as soon as possible. Unfortunately, she was unable to join him immediately.

"Uh, of course, yeah. It's just that I have my final doctor's appointment at eight, which should hopefully establish that my arm is fine. Would you mind if I met you at the precinct in an hour or so?" She asked, picking up her running shoes and turning towards Sherlock, who was watching her intently.

"Not at all, Watson. I shall get started, and will tell Captain Gregson to expect you presently." He nodded to her kindly, before holding her gaze for a few moments. The two of them stood a few feet apart, in complete silence, simply enjoying the presence of the other. He nodded once more before moving towards the front of the brownstone, opening the door, and making his way to the precinct. As the front door closed, Joan leaned against the wall near the stairs, and closed her eyes for a few seconds. She was beginning to feel slightly dizzy again, and was aware of the feeling of tiredness which had crept up on her all of a sudden. She was beginning to doubt whether her plan for an early morning run was such a good idea after all. She slowly made her way up the stairs and towards the bathroom, where she showered before dressing herself and driving to her doctor's appointment.

The doctor's surgery was surprisingly busy for such an early time on a Monday morning, and Joan made her way slowly towards the front desk. Thankfully her wait was not as long as she had anticipated, and she was led straight through to an examination room where she met her regular doctor, Beth Costello. After Dr Costello examined Joan's arm, and confirmed that she appeared to have recovered nicely, she began to ask her some routine follow-up questions, which Joan answered whilst adjusting her shirt.

"So, Miss Watson, how have you been feeling in yourself recently?" The doctor asked, looking up from her notes.

"Fine, yes." Replied Joan. Her tone was unconvincing, even to herself, and she was not surprised that it drew the attention of Dr Costello, who stared at her uncertainly. After a few seconds, Joan continued to talk. "I'm fine, really. It's just that I went running this morning and I felt a little dizzy. I guess I just pushed myself too far. I'm sure I'm fine."

Dr Costello smiled kindly at her, nodded her head, and put her pen down on the clipboard which was resting on her lap. "Miss Watson, as a former medical professional yourself, you must realise the importance of total disclosure in these consultations." The doctor spoke kindly but firmly, and Joan nodded in assent.

"I know, I know, you're right. I'm sorry, I'm sure it's nothing. I haven't been running since I sustained the injury, and I guess I just pushed myself a little too far, that's all."

Dr Costello nodded slowly, seeming to accept her personal and medical analysis of events. "And do you have any other symptoms? Tiredness, nausea, blurred vision, muscle pain?" Joan thought for a few moments, before confirming that she had been feeling slightly drowsy recently, which she attributed to her irregular sleep pattern. Dr Costello nodded once more, and smiled at her kindly. "Okay, well, I would like to draw some blood, if that's okay? Just to be on the safe side. I can have a full work up done and will ring you with the results by the end of the day. If a further appointment is needed, we can arrange it then. Is that alright?"

"Yes, sure." Joan replied immediately, unconcerned with this suggestion. As a former doctor, she understood the need for these routine tests, but felt quite certain that she was fine. She left the surgery without feeling overly anxious or concerned, and was content with the fact that her arm seemed to be perfectly fine. She decided to resume running the next day, but would pace herself.

As she arrived at the precinct it became immediately apparent that something major was happening. There were over a dozen officers rushing around, exchanging files and other papers, and the phones were ringing continuously. Amidst all the chaos, Joan could see Sherlock, Gregson and Bell all stood deep in conversation in the Captain's office. She navigated her way through the busily occupied officers, who were rushing around the precinct, and made her way into the office, and was received warmly by those inside. The Captain was leaning against his desk, with Detective Bell standing to his immediate right, and was staring imploringly at Sherlock, who was a few feet in front of him. Joan immediately walked to Sherlock's side, and he turned immediately to her.

"As you may have deduced, Watson, the current case is particularly urgent, and we have just been discussing the best way to proceed." From Sherlock's tone, it was clear to Joan that his opinion and that of Captain Gregson had not correlated, and the atmosphere in the office was notably charged. Captain Gregson exchanged a look with Sherlock, before turning to Joan and informing her of the case.

"At about seven forty five this morning, five year old twin girls, Jenny and Kate Devereaux, were abducted from their car whilst their mother was driving them to school. Their parents are Sandra and John Devereaux, a police officer and a Assistant District Attorney respectively. Mrs Devereaux and her children were just a few blocks from their home when Mrs Devereaux realised that two cars were uncomfortably close behind her. One of them overtook her and swerved in front of her, causing her to brake immediately. The second car then parked directly behind her, so she was unable to move. Each car contained two people, all dressed in black and wearing ski masks. Mrs Devereaux told us that two of the men exited the first car and walked towards her. The first of these men dragged her from the car and held her to the ground, whilst the second man pulled the girls from their car and carried them to the first vehicle. Once they were inside, he drove off, and the man who was holding the mother knocked her unconscious, before presumably entering the second car. The information I have just given you is from the mother's statement. She regained consciousness minutes after the attack and called 911." Captain Gregson paused, and stared at Joan for a moment. She seemed to be deeply troubled by what she was hearing, which he understood completely. Joan and Sherlock had rarely worked kidnapping cases, and certainly not ones like this one. "I know it is hard, Miss Watson." He began, which caused Sherlock to look towards his former sober companion with concern. "But the incident is recent, it happened less than an hour ago, and we have every person available working the case. You and Holmes will be invaluable to us, I am sure." He smiled kindly at her, and she nodded.

"Thank you, Captain." She began, regaining her composure. The thought of the mother having to watch as her children were taken from her deeply affected Joan for some reason, but she was determined to control her emotions and be as constructive as possible to the case. "Do you have any leads?"

"There are several, Watson, none of them too promising as yet." Sherlock began, turning towards her and facing her directly. He had sensed her discomfort, and was keen to discuss it with her after she had been fully debriefed. "The owner of a small convenience store two blocks away claims to have seen two cars of the same description speeding past, so we are checking the CCTV from the area. Captain Gregson took me to the scene, and we discovered a sweet wrapper which had attached itself to the wheel of Mrs Devereaux's car. It is being tested for finger prints and DNA as we speak. A press conference is being arranged, and will be launched at ten o'clock. Until then, we need to focus on the family. Understand who they, what they do, and ascertain any and all possible motivations for the kidnapping of these children." Joan nodded quickly, before turning her attention to Captain Gregson.

"Is the mother well enough to come to the precinct?" She asked kindly. Gregson nodded slowly but gravely, concern etched on his face.

"Sandra Devereaux is an officer from one of the other precincts, and has worked with us on multiple occasions. She has insisted on coming down here personally, despite the fact that paramedics believe she may have a concussion. Her husband was called immediately and is with her now. They will be here in ten minutes." Joan nodded, and assured Gregson that, as a police officer, Sandra Devereaux would be invaluable in the investigation.

"I'll also stay with her, if that's alright, just in case she is concussed. I'll be able to monitor her during the interview." The Captain nodded at Joan's request, and they agreed to meet in the interview room in five minutes. Sherlock and Joan left the Captain's office and made their way towards the interview room, discussing the case as they walked.

"Is that really all we have to go on so far?" Asked Joan, concern etched in her voice. "Two nondescript black cars, four suspects of unknown height and description, and no currently known motivation?"

Sherlock waited a few moments before responding, considering his words carefully. "The information we have is from the initial interview with Mrs Devereaux, which occurred just minutes after her attack. Hopefully, with the comfort and reassuring presence of her husband, she will feel more relaxed and be able to assist us further. As a police officer, she will almost certainly have observed more than she realises, and we can help to extract the relevant information from her experience. We also have the witness testimony of the convenience store owner, and the sweet wrapper." He spoke quickly yet calmly, in a manner with reassured Watson. "I assure you, Watson, we will find those children." She looked up at him as they reached the door to the interview room, and he pushed it gently open for her. His eyes shone with animation and confidence, and she had complete faith in him and what he had said. As they entered the room, Joan stood a few feet from the doorway and inspected the table and chairs inside, before quickly exiting the room. She returned a few moments later with two more chairs, a box of tissues, and some notepads and pens. She placed the chairs next to each other on the opposite side of the desk to which she, Sherlock and the police would be sat. Sherlock noticed that the chairs she had selected for the Devereaux's were the most comfortable that the precinct had to offer, and commended her for her conscientiousness and consideration.

A few minutes later they were joined by Captain Gregson and Detective Bell, who came armed with steaming hot coffee and stern, determined expressions. Shortly afterwards, a uniformed officer escorted the parents into the room. Mr and Mrs Devereaux glanced from person to person, before the former assisted her wife to her seat, and then stood behind her, resting his hand upon her shoulder. Mrs Devereaux was an attractive, petite woman in her mid-thirties, whose bright blue eyes were filled with tears which she seemed determined to fight back. She stared confidently up at Captain Gregson, offered him a weak smile, and thanked him for his help so far. The Captain responded politely and compassionately, causing the woman to relax slightly. Joan saw a deep contusion just above the mother's right eye, which had been expertly stitched, and was already starting to bruise. The sight of this injury reminded her of her own attack, just two months before in the precinct. The room they were currently sat in was the one in which Talbott had been interrogated in for the final time, before he was escorted to the cells. Joan shifted uncomfortably in her seat, which attracted Sherlock's attention. In an attempt to deflect attention from herself, Joan turned to Mrs Devereau and posed a question.

"Mrs Devereaux, my name is Joan Watson, I work with Mr Holmes as a consultant with NYPD. But before I began, I was a doctor. I know that you probably aren't thinking about yourself or your injury right now, which is completely understandable, but if you begin to feel unwell in any way please let me know." Joan spoke gently and kindly to the woman, whose sad eyes were glistening with tears. "Obviously, the more we ensure your own health and well-being, the better chance we have at uncovering information which could lead to the safe return of your children." Mrs Devereaux nodded in understanding, before thanking Joan sincerely, and assuring her that she felt fine. Mr Devereaux shifted slightly on his feet, and thanked Joan for her consideration. He was a tall, well-dressed man in his early forties, with dark hair and designer glasses. His face remained impassive, but his stance and iron-grip on his wife's seat revealed his torment.

"Mr and Mrs Devereaux, I would like to assure you both that we are doing everything we can to ensure the safe recovery of your daughters. I have informed you of the recent developments and recovered evidence, and we have talked about the press conference which will begin in just under an hour." Captain Gregson paused for a moment, casting his kind glance towards Mrs Devereaux, and speaking gently. "I know it's asking a lot, but what I really need from you both, especially you, Sandra, is any information that you have that you believe could be helpful to us."

Mr and Mrs Devereaux nodded, and the latter reached up and placed her hand over her husband's, before returning Gregson's kind glance. "Thank you, Captain. We understand. Would you like me to begin?" Gregson nodded, and the people in the room listened intently as Mrs Devereaux went through the day itself in minute and admirable detail. She had woken the girls shortly after seven, dressed them and given them their breakfast, checked their school bags, and then taken them to the car. They left the house shortly after twenty-five to eight, which was consistent with their normal routine. Five minutes later, they were ambushed. Mrs Devereaux remained remarkably calm and composed as she went over this information, and patiently and candidly answered the questions which were posed to her by both the police officers and Sherlock. She was unable to give any further details on the men involved, nor could she be absolutely certain that they were men. However, she did manage to remember a partial license plate from the first car, which she dictated to Captain Gregson, along of a description of the vehicle. He wrote this down hurriedly, before rising from his seat, opening the door, and passing the note to a nearby officer. As Gregson moved back towards his seat, Mrs Devereaux began to address him.

"Captain Gregson, we've worked together before on several cases, and I have personally worked on cases like this one." The room was completely silence, each person wondering where Mrs Devereaux's statement was leading. "And I understand the need to ascertain possible reasons for this occurring. But the truth is, I have no idea. I don't know why anyone would want to take my daughters. My husband and I are not particularly wealthy, we don't have enemies, and neither of us is involved in anything underhand or illegal. So please" she implored, staring at him with large, shining eyes, "tell me why this has happened." Her voice dropped at the last word, and Gregson leaned forward in his seat, looking at her with genuine sympathy and compassion. "Sandra, you know I can't answer that. But what I can do is ask you guys about your lives, your current experiences, and your relationship. I know this isn't what you want to hear right now, but the best chance we have at finding your daughters is gonna be by having this conversation." Sandra nodded in assent, placing one hand over her mouth, as her husband placed both hands on her shoulders, before moving around her and sitting himself by her side, clutching her free hand tightly in his.

"Captain, as you are aware, I am an ADA, and have been working on something which I believe to be relevant to today's events." Mr Devereaux's face remained impassive, and he spoke in as formal, conventional and detached a manner as he was able to. Sherlock and Joan correctly deduced that this was not out of cruelty or unfeeling, but out of necessity. He was trying to remain strong for his wife, and was adopting his courtroom persona in order to do so. "I am currently prosecuting a man who we believe to be the leader of an emerging gang in the city, The Knights. His name is Roberto Massetto, who is being tried for the double murder of his girlfriend and a person we believe to be his right-hand man. The evidence against him is solid, but my office has been receiving threatening messages and phone calls, and all the witnesses have been assigned protective details as a precaution." He paused briefly, looking at each person in turn, surveying their expressions. "From the brutality of this crime, and the threats he has made, as well as the fact that the trial is approaching its final stages, I believe that he is a viable suspect." Captain Gregson nodded, and posed some more questions whilst writing down the relevant material. When Gregson had finished, Sherlock began to ask Mrs Devereaux about her most recent cases, and discovered there to be little likelihood of their relevance. However, he did request that Gregson have her Captain send over all the cases she was involved on in the past four weeks, which he agreed to. For the next hour, Sherlock, Joan and the police posed various questions to the Devereaux's, who answered them with great courage. They were then escorted from the room in order to attend the press conference.

"So, what do you think?" Began Gregson, turning towards Sherlock. "I think the gang link is something we should focus on."

"Perhaps." Began Sherlock, who had been staring at the wall in front of him, but was brought out of his thoughts by Gregson's question. "It is certainly worthy of further investigation. As you and Bell look into that, would you please send the files to the brownstone?" Gregson nodded, before asking where Sherlock was going. "I believe Miss Watson and I should inspect the Deveraux's property. I assume there are police officers already there, and so our presence will be no more of an intrusion. Besides, there could be something at the house that is relevant, that has been missed. And while I do not doubt the legitimacy of the statements made by the Devereauxs, no one is ever as open as they believe themselves to be."

"Not even when their own kids are missing?" Bell asked, scepticism evident in his tone.

"Especially not then. You saw Mr Devereaux's response. He immediately handed us the gang leader on a plate, and seemed absolutely certain that this was the only possibility. It is understandable, and he could be quite right. But once you become convinced of something, you begin to dismiss things which you do not realise are relevant. And that is what I believe we can find at the house." Gregson nodded, and assured Sherlock that the files would be at the brownstone by the time he returned home, as would any and all other relevant material. Sherlock and Joan rose from their seats and left the interrogation room, closely followed by Detective Bell. As they made their way out of the precinct, they paused for a moment, out of both curiosity and respect, at the sight of the Devereaux standing in front of the news cameras, the bright lights of various cameras flashing relentlessly.

"Time is of the essence, Watson." Sherlock began, keeping his eyes fixed upon the Devereauxs. "And each moment we lose is a moment those children may not have."

"Nor the parents." Joan replied, causing Sherlock to look towards her. "I can't even begin to imagine how unbearable this must be for them." Sherlock nodded in agreement, before he and Joan approached her car, and drove straight to the address.

The Devereaux's lived in a quiet and respectable street in suburbia, with large, detached houses and spacious gardens, which were all neat and tidy. Their house was in the middle of the street, and was a modern building with a distinct homely feel. The front porch was guarded by two police officers, who stood on either side of the large, dark wooden door, their hands by their sides. As Sherlock and Joan got out of the car, Joan's phone began to ring. She locked the car before reaching into her pocket and reaching for her phone.

"Go ahead, I'll meet you inside." She stated to Sherlock, who watched her for a moment before turning and walking towards the house. Once he had reached the porch, she answered the phone. "Doctor Costello, hi. Are the tests back already?" Joan stared towards the house as she spoke, and was hoping that the conversation with the doctor would be brief, as this incident demanded her immediate attention.

"Yes, Miss Watson, the tests are back. And there is something which I need to discuss with you." Dr Costello began, in her usual pleasant yet confident tone. Joan's attention was now drawn away from the house and towards the conversation she was having with the doctor. For the first time since the appointment, she began to feel slightly worried. She was certain she was fine, and the doctor did not sound anxious or overly concerned, so she was perplexed as to what the issue could be.

"What is it, Doctor Costello?" She asked, her voice not betraying the concern which she felt.

"Miss Watson, the tests reveal that you are pregnant."


	4. Chapter 4

Joan did not respond immediately to Dr Costello's statement, and simply held the phone tighter in her hand as she parted her lips and tried to speak. She felt her mouth go dry and her stomach clench, and was temporarily overwhelmed with fear and confusion. She turned away from the house and faced towards the road, which was lined with several other beautiful homes. Joan was staring into suburbia, watching the people on the street thoughtlessly, and was only brought out of her reverie when the doctor spoke her name gently for the second time.

"Miss Watson?" she asked, concern clear in her kind voice.

"Yes, yes I'm sorry." Joan responded quickly, sounding much more composed that she felt. "It's just... I wasn't expecting you to-" she paused, placing her left hand over her mouth and breathing in deeply before continuing. "Are you positive? I mean, you're sure?"

"Yes, Miss Watson." Dr Costello replied gently yet confidently, and Joan could hear the sound of a file closing. "I just got the results back, and there is no question. You are pregnant."

Joan nodded slowly, and thanked the doctor for calling. She slowly looked down at her abdomen, and placed her left hand on to it slowly and cautiously, before spreading out her fingers gently, and running her fingertips from one side to the other. For some reason, this movement calmed Joan, and made her feel reassured for just a few moments, before she once again felt afraid. As she was about to hang up, Dr Costello began to speak once more. "Miss Watson, I understand this is unexpected. Why don't you come to the surgery after we close, at around six? I'll be here for another hour and so, and we can go over the results, confirm it officially, and discuss your options." Joan was grateful for the doctor's kindness, and was aware of just how much she was going above and beyond her duty, but she felt as if everything was happening too quickly. Joan suddenly felt very warm and panicked, and exhaled deeply in an attempt to calm herself. It worked, and she sounded much more confident when she spoke next.

"Thank you, yes, that would be great. I'll see you at six." The doctor offered her some reassuring words, which Joan thanked her for before hanging up. She pressed the phone to her bottom lip and breathed in deeply once more. Joan felt her mouth go dry once more, and again she was struck by the same feeling of fear and apprehension which was overwhelming her. She moved the phone away from her mouth and checked the time. It was just after eleven, meaning that she had seven hours to go before she could see her doctor again. Although she did not doubt the diagnosis. In her years in medical practice Joan had run many such tests, and their reliability held up to scrutiny. She never had a false positive from a blood test in all her years, and did not believe she would encounter one now. As she stood staring across the street, Joan's mind raced back to the night she and Sherlock spent together eight weeks ago. Vivid memories of that evening had come flooding back to her the moment the doctor first used the word 'pregnant', and as she processed these same memories again, she was once more overcome by fear. She was carrying Sherlock's baby. Her mind was racing, and she kept switching her thoughts from the father of her child to her health in general over the last eight weeks. She had been feeling run down lately, and had experienced dizzy spells, but she attributed that to her injured arm and heavy workload. She could not believe that she had missed the signs, that she had not realised what was happening. After thinking about what had been happening to her body, she began to considering what needed to happen next. She knew she needed to tell Sherlock, but as she turned towards the house, knowing he was inside, she felt incomprehensible fear and anguish at the prospect. What if he was angry? Or upset? What if this was too much for him to handle? She could not bear to hurt him, and she certainly did not want to do anything that could compromise the progress he had been making in his life, both personally and professionally. Joan also thought of the case they were working on, and realised that discussing this matter with him now would have an unfathomable affect of Sherlock, which could compromise the safety of the two little girls they were searching for, which she would not risk. Joan remained on the pavement for a few more moments, agonizing over what to do. In the end, she decided to continue to work for the rest of the day, go to her doctor's appointment in the evening, and then consider what to do next. Taking things one step at a time seemed comforting to her, and she felt that it was the right thing to do. In fact, she felt it was her only option. Joan took a slow and cautious step forward before strolling confidently up to the front of the house, her walk and her demeanour not betraying a hint of the fear and conflict which was overwhelming her.

Joan found the door to be wide open, and walked slowly into the large house. The bottom floor was beautifully laid out and modernly furnished. To the immediate right of the door was the living area, which had dark leather sofas and modern furnishings. There was a fireplace in the centre of the room, under a mantle piece which held several exquisitely framed photographs of the Devereaux families. To Joan's left was a dining area, which was decorated in a similar manner, and these two rooms appeared to lead to a large white and chrome kitchen dining room at the back of the house. There were an array of original water colour paintings which hung on the walls, and large chandeliers hailed from the ceiling. As she took a few steps further into the house, she saw the entrance to the staircase on the large wall to her right which, upon initial inspection, appeared to be just a doorway leading to another room. But the sounds of familiar footsteps rushing down to meet her made her instantly aware of what was behind the doorway, which was confirmed as Sherlock passed through this entrance and walked briskly towards her, talking as he did so. For a few moments, Joan could have sworn that she actually stopped breathing. Everything felt quiet, cold and not quite real. She was watching Sherlock with interest, staring at his mouth as he spoke. He was wearing a white shirt, black waistcoat and jacket, which he adjusted slightly as he paused just slightly in front of her. The scent of his aftershave combined with his proximity drew her slowly from her thoughts.

"Watson?" He began, a slight degree of concern present in his voice.

"Yes, sorry, I was just admiring the place." She replied immediately, in a bright yet calm manner, as she took a few steps forward and began walking past Sherlock and towards the kitchen. Sherlock turned slowly and watched her walking towards the other end of the building, examining the artwork and the décor, before turning sharply and walking towards him once more, pausing just a few steps in front of him. As she opened her mouth to speak, Captain Gregson and Detective Bell entered the building, and she smiled politely at them, before Sherlock turned and began to address the group.

"Ah, so glad you are here, Captain. And you, of course, Detective Bell. Sherlock began, leaning back on his heels before taking a few steps towards them and continuing to speak. Joan followed him slowly, and gazed towards the living room as he spoke, her attention fixed on the fireplace. "Since arriving, I have examined the downstairs rooms as well as the bedrooms. The girls share a bedroom, and from the layout of the room and the articles in it, it is evident that they have fairly dissimilar personalities. Jenny is a keen drawer and painter, with her artistic accomplishments scattered across the walls, and her small sculptures signed with her initials and placed proudly on display. Her work, including the designs and her use of colour, imply that she is extroverted, confident and extremely thorough. She clearly spends a lot of time on her work and prides herself on her precision. Her sister Kate appears to be much more introverted, with her side of the room being very tidy and well organised, everything remaining in its place. She also has a passion for reading. Although there is a fairly sizeable bookcase with an impressive collection of children's literature in the room, which is presumably for both sisters, Kate sleeps in the bed closest to it, and has placed a stack of her favourite books within an arm's reach. She also keeps a small torch under her pillow, presumably for late night reading when she is supposed to be asleep." Sherlock paused for a moment, watching the reactions of the faces of the individuals in the room. They seemed impressed by his observations, but notably perplexed. "Understanding these girls will help us, Captain, I assure you. An understanding of their personalities, habits and preferences could help to predict their likely reactions in given situations. From what I have discussed, I believe it is possible that Jenny would act boldly and spontaneously in a time of crisis, whereas Kate would be much more reserved, and is more likely to follow instructions and think things through carefully than her sister. With these opposite personality types, however, it is difficult to establish how they will react together." Gregson and Bell nodded at Sherlock, before the former turned towards Joan, who had remained quiet.

"Everything okay, Miss Watson?" Gregson asked kindly, his hands planted firmly in his pockets. Joan did not reply immediately, and was still staring into the living room. Sherlock turned towards her and followed her gaze, noticing that she was staring at the mantelpiece.

"Watson?" Sherlock asked, drawing Joan from her thoughts.

"What? Sorry, I... It's just" she began to talk, before moving briskly towards the mantelpiece and picking up one of the framed photographs. The photograph was one taken of the family at the beach. Mr and Mrs Devereaux were leaning towards the camera, and their identical twin girls with wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes were standing in front of them, beaming towards the camera. The photograph was held in a shining silver frame of an ornate design, with curved pieces of silver entwining itself around the border of the frame. The photograph and the frame were not particularly relevant, but as Joan carried it back towards the patiently waiting detectives, she realised what it was that had drawn her attention to it, what seemed to be out of place. She walked towards Sherlock and stood slightly in front of him, her calmness and resolve returning to her as she focused her energy completely on the case. She held the frame out in front of him and began to speak. "This frame is beautifully crafted, hand made I would say, and of an ornate design. The material they have used is silver, but if you notice here," she indicated to an area in the middle of the top section of the frame, which was decorated with the silver interlaced materials, "this piece of silver has been damaged. Not accidentally broken, but intentionally cut using some kind of tool, which is evident from the straight edge of the cut. There is a similar line about an inch to the left, too. And the piece of silver which is between these lines is not the same colour as the rest of the frame. It is a good few shades lighter." Sherlock looked down at the frame and nodded, before Gregson and Bell leaned in to look.

"Well done, Watson." Sherlock stated, warmly and kindly. Gregson and Bell looked confused, and turned their attention from Joan to Sherlock, then to each other.

"I'm sorry, I don't see the significance of a damaged picture frame." Detective Bell began.

"That's just it, detective. Miss Watson has established that the frame was not damaged but was intentionally tampered with, and a small piece of it removed and replaced with something else." Sherlock spoke whilst Joan turned the frame around, and gently pushed on the lighter silver between the two lines, causing it to fall into her free hand. She lifted up the piece of silver and handed it to Sherlock, who thanked her. He turned it over in his hands before smiling with satisfaction, nodding to Watson as he turned to face the police officers. "Gentlemen, Miss Watson has found a hidden camera. This family were being watched."

Gregson nodded in amazement, complementing Joan on her observation, before holding his hand out to Sherlock.

"Yeah, and I think we have a pretty good idea who is behind this." On the final word of his sentence, the Captain held up the small metal device. "We looked into the guy Mr Devereaux mentioned earlier, Roberto Massetto, who is currently being held on remand until trial. We had his jail cell searched, and a phone was found hidden inside his mattress. Initial reports suggest that over the past few days he has made several calls to a disposable cell phone. The latest call was made this morning at six forty five, less than an hour before the girls went missing." Sherlock nodded slowly as the Captain spoke, as Joan slowly walked back towards the living room to replace the frame, before standing by Sherlock's side. "The tech guys are trying to trace the call and find out any hidden secrets the phone contains, but it may take a while. In the meantime, we are having Mr Massetto transferred from prison to the precinct, where he should be arriving in" Gregson paused for a moment and stared down at his watch, "about ten minutes. I'd certainly appreciate both of you being present at the interview." Sherlock and Joan assented, and walked briskly from the house. As Sherlock and Joan reached her car, Joan opened the driver's side door and turned towards the house before getting in. She surveyed the house completely, from the bottom to the top, before resting her gaze on the window of the children's bedroom, the glass of which was decorated with several brightly coloured drawings. She considered the ambition, the talent, and the passion of the little girl who produced such beautiful images, and could not bare to think of the very different situation she was in now. She lowered herself slowly into her car, spoke warmly to Sherlock, and followed the Captain's car back to the precinct.

Sherlock and Joan arrived at the precinct shortly after midday, and found themselves waiting for almost half an hour before the prisoner entered the building. Apparently he had strongly protested to the accusations being made, and was incredibly reluctant to leave prison and be interviewed. By two o'clock Sherlock, Joan, Captain Gregson and Detective Bell had been in the interview room with Roberto Massetto, an attractive man in his mid thirties who was bald, extensively tattooed and wore a permanent expression of the utmost disdain for whoever he happened to be talking to. In the first hour of the interview very little had been ascertained, except for the fact that the prisoner was extremely uncooperative, and strenuously denied any knowledge of the phone. He was also unsure of why something so simple as the possession of prohibited articles meant that he was "dragged kicking and screaming" from his cell to the precinct. By this time, Captain Gregson was fast running out of time and patience, and began to question him in a more direct manner.

"Mr Massetto, we know you have some knowledge of the phone, it was found in your bed and your finger prints are all over it. And I am gonna give you the compliment of assuming that you are not so stupid as to believe that such a find would have us haul you all the way down here." He was leaning forward in his seat and staring intently at the suspect. Joan and Sherlock were stood behind the seated Gregson and Bell, and were watching the interview with great interest. "You made several calls to a disposable cell phone, using this phone" Gregson tapped the evidence bag which contained the phone, drawing Massetto's eyes down to the table. "Now why don't you make this easier for all of us and tell me who you were calling?"

"Like I said, man," Massetto began, leaning back comfortably in his seat. "I don't know nothing about no phone. And I haven't been callin' no one."

"Mr Massetto, I understand that you find this tedious, possibly even amusing" began Sherlock, taking a step forward and staring intently at the prisoner. "But I don't believe you are aware of the gravity of the situation. The children of the man prosecuting you, ADA Devereaux, were abducted this morning, and their mother assaulted. Now, unless you wish to add another two or three decades on to your already inevitably long prison sentence, I suggest you co-operate."

For the first time in the interview, the arrogant expression which was displayed upon the face of Massetto disappeared, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting curiously around the room.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, placing his cuffed hands on the table. "I don't know anything about that, I didn't even know he had kids." Massetto was speaking in a slightly agitated manner, and was clearly now becoming aware of just what the police suspected him of.

"You threatened the man in open court, Mr Massetto. Do you really expect us to believe you had nothing to do with this?" Sherlock asked, pressing the issue further. "if you used the phone to arrange the kidnapping of those children, legally you are just as responsible for anything that happens to them as your associates. So I suggest you start talking."

"Whoa, whoa. No, hold on." Massetto began, shifting again in his seat, pressing his chest against the table and leaning forwards. He looked from Sherlock to Gregson, and sighed deeply, staring at the wall for a few seconds before staring back towards Sherlock, who was watching him expectantly. "Alright, man, look. The phone is mine and I did use it, but not for the reason you think, okay?" He shifted once more in his seat, and Gregson leaned back, and was notably more relaxed. It was clear that the prisoner was about to talk. "Okay, I did make some calls to an associate, but it had nothing to do with that ADA guy. I was calling a contact of mine to" he stopped talking suddenly, and rubbed his lips together before closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. "I called a guy I know who owes me a favour, and I arranged for him to deal with Bennett and Cairns." Gregson looked slightly confused, and looked towards Sherlock, who spoke immediately.

"Phil Bennett and Jessica Cairns? Two of the key prosecution witnesses at your trial?" Sherlock began, interest clear in his tone. "And what was it exactly that you were hoping to 'deal' with?"

Massetto sighed once more and glared reproachfully at Sherlock, who maintained his interested and expectant stare. "Bennett owes ten grand to a loan shark buddy of mine and Cairns is sleeping with her husband's business partner. I was using this as a way of... ensuring that they... have my best interests at heart during the trial."

Gregson snorted as he stared directly at Massetto, his eyes blazing. "You mean you bribed one witness and threatened the other?" Massetto nodded begrudgingly. "Well, that's very interesting, and you can bet we will be looking into it. But if you are capable of that, what is to stop you looking for dirt on other people associated with your trial, huh? Is that why you bugged the Devereauxes' house? Huh?"

Confusion passed across Massetto's face, and he arched his eyebrows with uncertainty as he looked from Gregson to Sherlock, before addressing the Captain. "Bugged what? I didn't bug anyone's house. I don't know anything about that, I swear." He was becoming more and more agitated, and lifted his hands from the table in defeat. Gregson gave him a cynical look, clearly not believing a word he said, so Massetto looked to Sherlock, his pleading eyes imploring his attention. "Look, I admit that I tried to deal with two of the witnesses at my trial, okay? I hold my hands up to that. But I don't know anything about any bug, or any kidnapping. I tampered with those witnesses to try to get myself off the charges, right?" Sherlock nodded slowly, maintaining eye contact with the prisoner, who was becoming more and more desperate. "Okay, so what possible good would doing something to the prosecutor do? Huh? If something happened to him, or to his family, that does not help me at all. There is nothing that I could do to him or his family that would help me at trial." He spoke confidently and with great certainty, pressing his finger on the table for emphasis. "Those witnesses had secrets, right? Secrets I offered to ensure never saw the light of day. I work behind the scenes, I was subtle, I didn't do anything that could be traced back to me. Taking his kinds and hurting his wife, that's risking attention I just don't need, you know? Besides, these witnesses were in the palm of my hand. Until about five minutes ago, I had nothing to worry about in relation to my court date other than what time I needed to be up and showered." He leaned back once more in his chair, and tapped his feet impatiently on the ground. "I don't know what happened to those kids, but I do know that I had nothing to do with it."

The room was silent for a few minutes, until Captain Gregson stood from his seat and addressed the prisoner. "Well, you'll forgive us if we don't take you for your word" he stated, before moving to leave the room, closely followed by Bell, Sherlock and Joan. Once they were out of the room, Joan pulled the door shut and turned to the others. "So, what do you think?" Asked Gregson.

"I'm sorry to say that I believe he's telling the truth, Captain." Began Sherlock in a low, earnest tone. "And he's right, overtly threatening the prosecutor's family would achieve relatively little for him. It was a bold move, very bold and very brazen, which is inconsistent with the other methods which he employed in a vain attempt to secure his freedom. No, Captain, I do not believe that this man had anything to do with the kidnapping. You saw his behaviour change, he was arrogant when he came in. He was so certain that there was nothing we could prove, even if we suspected him of witness tampering. Yet the second I mentioned the kidnapping, he changed completely. He was shocked, it was not expected. In fact, due to his early morning cell check, I very much doubt whether he watched the news this morning, so was probably unaware that the event we are investigating even occurred."

Joan nodded, and turned to Gregson. "I agree with Sherlock. The guy's whole demeanour changes when Sherlock mentioned the missing children. He was terrified, not because of guilt, but because he had no idea what was going on. He no longer had the upper hand in this interview which, with the serious allegations which he clearly knew nothing about, completely changed his whole pattern of behaviour." Detective Bell agreed, and Captain Gregson nodded slowly, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Captain, I appreciate that this was not the result you were hoping for. But there is no cause to completely abandon the gang-related link yet. There are other individuals in the gang who may want to secure their friend's release due to an existing mission, or out of some sense of loyalty. Although, I must tell you, I do not believe this is likely. I think the motive may be something unrelated, I just don't know what that is yet." Sherlock shifted on his feet, shifting his gaze from the interview room to the police officers, then towards Joan, who was looking down at her watch.

"Is there somewhere you have to be, Joan?" Sherlock asked kindly, an air of confusion present in his voice.

"I have a follow-up appointment with my doctor at six, I saw her this morning but she wanted me to come back in the evening for a secondary consultation, although she is confident everything is fine." She spoke calmly and confidently, surprised by the sound of her own voice. She strong disliked lying, especially to Sherlock, but she was confident that waiting for a while before discussing her pregnancy with him was the best course of action, for him and for the missing girls. It would also allow her time to prepare herself for the conversation, and to figure out her own feelings on the subject, before raising the issue with him. She looked up at his face, and looked into his eyes. He was watching her curiously, but did not appear to doubt her.

"Of course, yes." He responded, nodding. "Well, as you have just over an hour before you need to leave, would you care to go over the current evidence with me, see if there is anything we may have overlooked?"

Joan nodded, grateful for the opportunity to continue assisting with the case. She also hoped that a fresh perspective on the evidence may prove to be illuminating.

"The files are in my office, which you are both welcome to use." Gregson stated, before lifting his phone from his pocket. "In the meantime, I'm gonna go and talk to our tech guys, see if they've found anything on the device Miss Watson found this morning." He nodded to Sherlock and Joan before departing with Detective Bell, who thanked them for their assistance, and told them to call him immediately if they found anything. Sherlock and Joan spent the next hour in Gregson's office, trawling through some of the cases which ADA Devereaux had been working on over the past couple of months, as well as examining the witness statements and preliminary reports pertaining to the current case. After a rather fruitless hour, Joan rose to leave, telling Sherlock that she would meet him at the brownstone later that evening. Sherlock looked up from the file he was reading and watched Joan as she spoke, wishing her well and stating that he would be at the brownstone by the time she got there. She smiled kindly at him and departed.

On the car ride over to the doctor's surgery Joan found that, for the first time sine her phone conversation with her doctor earlier in the day, she was dedicating every ounce of her thought and her being into thinking about her pregnancy. Due to the events of the day, and the surprise of the news, it did not feel quite real. Despite this, she felt the same pangs of fear and apprehension which she had experienced before, and felt her mouth dry yet again as she pulled into the car park. The car park was virtually empty, with just a few staff vehicles present. The surgery itself was equally quiet, and Joan strolled past a janitor who was cleaning beneath the seats. She walked directly towards Dr Costello's room, paused outside the door, and raised her hand to knock. Before her hand could connect with the door, she stopped herself. For the first time that day, she felt as though she was experiencing a moment of complete clarity regarding her condition. She was pregnant. She was carrying Sherlock's baby. And she was about to talk about it with another person. Joan swallowed before raising her hand and knocking confidently upon the door, before opening it slowly at the invitation of the familiar voice on the other side. As she opened the door, Dr Costello turned in her chair to face her, offering her a kind and sympathetic smile.

"Miss Watson, hello. Please, take a seat." She picked up a file from her desk and flicked through it as Joan took her seat. She placed her bag by her side and clasped her hands tightly in her lap, watching as the doctor perused her file.

"Okay, as we discussed earlier on the phone, your test results have come back and reveal that you are pregnant. I had these double checked for you, and the result was confirmed." Dr Costello closed the folder and placed it on her desk, before turning to face Joan. "Now, as you have sustained an injury recently, and due to the symptoms you were describing earlier, I would like to make sure that you and your baby are okay." She spoke gently, a small smile crossing her lips at the end of her statement. "That is, of course, if you are happy to proceed with the pregnancy. I understand that you need some time to consider-"

"No, no I don't need time, thank you." Joan began, recovering her confidence as she continued to speak. "I want to keep the baby." She said, pausing and reflecting upon her words. Joan had been thinking about her options on the way over, considering each one both medically and emotionally, in an attempt to prepare her for this conversation. She had felt certain that she wished to keep the baby, and as soon as the doctor mentioned something otherwise, she found that she could not stop herself from interrupting. As she was reviewing her thoughts, her hands unclasped themselves and moved slowly towards her stomach which she seemed to be completely unaware of. Dr Costello had noticed, though, and smiled at her reassuringly.

"Okay, Miss Watson. Then, if you are comfortably, I would like to give you an ultrasound, just to be safe." She smiled once more and watched Joan carefully. Joan nodded, placing her hands on the side of her chair and standing up. Dr Costello also stood, and walked towards the bed at the far right of the room. Joan approached the bed slowly, her attention leaving it for a moment as she stared at the ultrasound machine to the side of the bed. Seeing the machine reawakened her previous fears and anxiety, and she breathed in deeply before seating herself on the edge of the bed. "Miss Watson," began the doctor as she moved towards the ultrasound machine, "when you are ready, I need you to lie down, make yourself comfortable, and unbutton your blouse for me, okay?" Joan nodded, and began to undo the buttons on the bottom half of her smooth, white blouse. She then pushed each side of the blouse aside and eased herself back onto the bed, leaning tiredly into the comfort of the warm, soft pillow. For the past few minutes she had been trying to remain calm, to focus. She was worried about her baby. Although she knew that dizziness was perfectly normal, ever since discovering that she was pregnant she found herself running through all the medical conditions she was aware of which had dizziness as a symptom. She exhaled slowly as she felt the cold gel pool onto her abdomen, before Dr Costello began to move the wand across her abdomen. Joan looked up at the ceiling, afraid to look at the monitor. She was worried that, by pushing herself that morning, she may have harmed the baby that she did not know she was carrying. The thought of the baby being harmed in any way terrified her, and she felt torn between her current state of uncertainty and panic and looking towards the screen. But she was drawn from her thoughts instantly by her doctor, who posed a question which Joan assented to immediately.

"Miss Watson, would you like to see your baby?" Joan exhaled slowly and nodded, before turning her head towards the screen. Her eyes welled up with what she saw. As soon as she saw the image of her baby on the screen, she felt as though her breath was taken from her body. She felt an indescribable pull towards the beautiful, tiny human being whose heart was beating strongly and healthily inside her own. For a few minutes, the fear and anxiety which she had been battling melted away, and she stared at the screen in absolute awe and amazement, before smiling. "Your baby is perfectly healthy, Miss Watson. Very strong heart beat, developing nicely." The doctor stated, turning to face Joan. "From this scan I can tell that you are around eight weeks along. And everything is perfect, you have absolutely nothing to worry about." The doctor smiled at her reassuringly, before printing off a picture of the baby and passing Joan some tissues, which she used to wipe the remaining gel from her stomach before re-buttoning her blouse. As she did so, the last words of her doctor swam in her mind. _Absolutely nothing to worry about_. Joan breathed in deeply, rethinking the words over and over again. Her baby was safe, healthy, strong and developing wonderfully, which provided her with the greatest degree of comfort and happiness that she had ever felt before. But after the last words of the doctor, Joan found herself thinking of the main thing she was worried about: telling Sherlock Holmes that he was going to be a father.


	5. Chapter 5

The next two weeks passed rather quickly, with varied results in terms of the progression of the investigation. As yet, there had been no ransom demand or any attempt to make contact with the parents or the police, and no reliable sightings of the girls had been reported. Whilst reviewing the evidence and considering the relevant case files, Sherlock and the police had agreed that the gang-related link which they had once believed to be so plausible and so significant was now out of the question, causing them to consider other avenues. Research into the girls' school life and extra curricular activities revealed next to nothing, apart from leading to the revelation that a fourth grade teacher at their school was having an affair with the married principal. Despite this notable lack of progression, there had been some minor developments. The sweet wrapper which had been recovered from the abduction scene contained a partial finger print and the DNA of an unknown male, who the police were trying to locate. The cars used in the abduction had also been located, and were found ten miles from the abduction site, having had been torched. Following this discovery, Sherlock urged the police to acquire all possible CCTV footage from the abduction site to the dump site, on the off chance that one of the city's many cameras may have recorded some clue to either the identity of the kidnappers or the location of the victims. However, this took a considerable amount of time, which the police felt they were running out of. Sherlock and Joan were assisting all they could, and had brought many insightful and relevant ideas and suggestions to the investigation, but progress remained much slower than all parties had hoped, and the situation was becoming much more desperate.

It was for that reason that Joan had still not told Sherlock about the baby. After arriving home from her doctor's appointment, she had tried to work up the courage to tell him. On the car ride home, she was running over the words she would use and the approach she would take, but found herself more focused on his possible reactions to the news, and the impact which it could have upon him. The thought of pressuring him, or revealing information which could be detrimental to his current and relatively content state frightened her, and filled her with that now all too familiar feeling of fear and guilt. So as she ascended the steps to the brownstone, she simply unlocked the door, stepped through into the living area, and sat up with Sherlock all night long, reviewing the case files. Joan found that each second she worked on the case gave her a greater reassurance that she was doing the right thing by delaying the news, which she feared could be detrimental to both Sherlock and the missing children. The next two weeks followed a very similar pattern, with Joan and Sherlock working until very late, discussing theories and evidence, and considering a myriad of possibilities. Joan found that when she was in his presence and discussing the case, she felt empowered and strong, as though she was exactly where she needed to be. It was in the moments when they took a break, or discussed something unrelated to cases at all, that she was once more filled with fear and guilt. Sometimes she would watch him as he prepared food, or played the violin, or rushed about the brownstone in an animated fashion. She would watch him closely, as if waiting for him to pause, walk towards her, and engage her in deep conversation, when she would reveal the her pregnancy to him. This did not happen, and Joan simply continued to work with him, admire him, and watch him with a combination of unfathomable guilt and unconditional admiration.

At the end of this two week investigatory period, Sherlock and Joan decided to return to the home of the Devereaux family, in order to talk with the parents once more. In recent weeks, they had been focusing on current cases which both parents had been involved in, as well as looking into work-related disputes and personal fall-outs, which had all lead to the same dead end. Sherlock was keen to broaden the investigative scope, so to speak, and research the parents and their histories in a much greater depth than had been previously considered. They were missing something significant, and he was determined to uncover what it was.

As Sherlock and Joan were led into the house by Mr Devereaux, each was struck by the notable change of the atmosphere in the house. They had, of course, seen Mr and Mrs Devereaux in the last couple of weeks, but in the formal location of the precinct. As they entered their home, they noticed a marked difference between now and the first time they entered, on the day of the children's abduction. On that warm summer day, the house had been brightly lit and radiated warmth, comfort and homeliness. Walking into it now was like walking into a once beautiful building which had been destroyed by a fire. The rooms felt cold, darker somehow. The layout was the same, no piece of furniture or possession had been moved from its original place, but the warmth and love which defined the space was now completely absent from it. This deeply saddened Joan and she entered the home, and caused her to lower her head slightly, almost like in the sombre and respectful manner a person would adopt when entering the location of a wake.

Mr and Mrs Devereaux were polite and extremely cordial, but their drained and impassive faces betrayed their torment, and Joan felt her heart ache just watching as they sat opposite herself and Sherlock, looking imploringly at them both. Sherlock began to explain his desire to delve deeper into their lives, and to consider events which pre-dated the six month period which he and the police had initially focused on. The married couple nodded congenially, willing to reveal anything they could to help with the investigation. Mr Devereaux gave Sherlock details pertaining to several of the high-profile cases he worked in the last two years, as well as a few less grand ones which he believed could fit the criteria Sherlock described, relating to personal grudges, threats and animosity. The discussion with Mr Devereaux provided many plausible potential leads, which Sherlock and Joan both knew would take a considerable amount of time to look into. The list of cases which Mrs Devereaux had worked in was notably shorter, three or four possible cases involving a personal grudge against herself in the past two years. But as she discussed the final case her expression changes slightly, as though she were sadly reminiscing.

"Mrs Devereaux, are you alright?" Joan asked kindly, watching the sad mother's expression. Mrs Devereaux's eyes brightened slightly at Joan's voice, and she turned immediately to face her.

"Yes, thank you Miss Watson." She replied hastily, sounding slightly flustered and confused. "It's just... what you and Mr Holmes were saying, about how our actions could have unforeseen negative consequences, reminded me of a case I was involved in a few years ago." She swallowed slowly before clasping her hands together in her lap, and shifting slightly in her seat, edging slightly away from her husband. Sherlock and Joan watched her kindly, and nodded for her to continue. "It was longer ago than the two year period you mentioned. And it wasn't a case per se. But three years ago some colleagues and I went out to a bar one evening to celebrate the success of one of our cases, a violent man who had been convicted for assaulting his wife and one of his children. We were having a few quiet drinks in a bar a couple blocks from the precinct, and it was football season. There was a match on the TV, and pretty soon two guys were yelling at each other over it. They were both completely drunk, absolutely wasted. One of my colleagues went to try and calm them down, and the first guy pulled a gun." She stopped suddenly, inhaling deeply as she did so. "He shot my colleague in the shoulder who, thankfully, made a full recovery. But after the shot went off I ran over to them, drawing my own weapon. I ordered him to put the gun down and he refused, instead he rose his hand and aimed at my head. I tried talking him down, but he had this manic look in his eyes, and was smiling so strangely. He moved his finger towards the trigger but I fired first, killing him." She paused once more, gathering her thoughts. "There was an inquiry, of course, which found me to be innocent of any wrong-doing, despite the fact that his brother made a scene, told them all I murdered him." She paused, blinking a couple of times before continuing. "For quite a while afterwards I was still haunted by what happened. It was his eyes. For weeks afterwards all I could see were his deep brown eyes, staring at me in that crazed way, as he aimed the gun at my head. I sought counselling afterwards, which I only stopped going to about six months ago." She looked up at Sherlock and Joan, and her husband gripped her hand tightly. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure if that was relevant, but it seemed to be in line with what you were both discussing. I guess I thought it fit the criteria."

"Thank you, Mrs Devereaux, yes. It is certainly something we will investigate further." Sherlock spoke softly and gently, nodding slightly to reassure the nervous woman. "Absolutely anything that you believe to be relevant could have a bearing on this case, and will help us to relocate your daughters and return them to you. So yes, it was relevant. Thank you for telling us. My colleague and I will look into the case, and into the brother of the man." He rose slowly, causing Watson and the parents to stand too. Sherlock turned to Mrs Devereaux and looked at her kindly, before posing one final question. "Mrs Devereaux, could you give me the name of the man who shot your partner?" She nodded slowly, looking away from him for a moment before meeting his eyes.

"Yes. His name was Jacob Masters. He was twenty five years old and had a pretty long wrap sheet, as well as a history of drug use. He was high that night. The coroner said he had enough cocaine in his system to satisfy himself and four others, so..." she trailed off, rubbing her left arm comfortingly with her right hand, and her husband moved slowly behind her. Joan smiled at her gently, thanking them once more for their time. But before they left, Joan turned back towards Mrs Devereaux, and looked at her kindly.

"I just want to assure you," she began, unclasping her hands and looking from husband to wife, "we will find your children. I can't imagine what you must be going through right now, but there are many avenues that we are still exploring, and there has been nothing found which suggests we should think the worst." She reached into her pocket and passed a card to Mrs Devereaux. "If there is anything you need, anything at all, please call me. Any time, okay?" Mrs Devereaux held the card between her fingers and smiled serenely and Joan, thanking her sincerely for her kindness and consideration, and assuring her she would call her if necessary. Joan nodded, wishing the couple well, and followed Sherlock from the house. As soon as the door closed behind them and they made their way to Joan's car, Sherlock began to speak.

"We should look into the case of Jacob Masters immediately, and also locate his brother for questioning. Captain Gregson will also wish to be appraised of the information." As Sherlock slid into the passenger seat he pulled his phone from his pocket and called Gregson, recounting Mrs Devereaux's story and informing him that they were on their way to the precinct. By the time they arrived, Gregson was walking towards them, a light brown folder in his right hand.

"Jacob Jackson Masters, born February 19th 1986. Adopted at birth by Lynn and Reginald Masters, who died in a car accident in 2001. He had one brother, also adopted, by the name of Henry Ellison Masters, who has a wrap sheet almost identical to his late brother's. Multiple counts of possession, a couple with the intent to supply, and some other crimes relating to violence, usually brought about by alcohol. The brother finished a stint in Sing Sing for possession with intent six months ago, and according to his Parole Officer is currently in the wind. We are working on locating him now." Sherlock and Joan nodded, as the former accepted the file from Gregson. "Great job, you two. Looks promising so far. I'm having the case report relating to Masters' death sent over by courier, it should be her within the hour. Feel free to set up in one of the unused rooms, and I'll have the file brought in to you."

"Thank you, Captain." Responded Joan kindly, as she and Sherlock made their way to a free room, and began to discuss the case files of both brothers. The files relating to the death of the brother arrived shortly afterwards, which Sherlock and Joan perused with interest. After about an hour, Sherlock placed the file on the table and rubbed his eyes with his hands, before leaning forward to face Joan.

"From the case report and witness testimony, it appears that Mrs Devereaux's account of events is completely accurate, having been supported by both her colleagues and patrons of the bar, including the man who Masters was having the original fight with. The inquiry seems to have been handled well, the evidence discussed seems watertight, and the right verdict was established. Mrs Devereaux was certainly acting in self defence." He nodded slowly to himself, before his weary eyes stared at the wall behind Joan for a moment, returning moments later to face her. "The brother did make an appearance at the hearing, and yelled at the coroner during his testimony, claiming that he was wrong, and that Mr Masters had been shot in an unprovoked manner due to the intense contempt he believed the police had for him. He then branded Mrs Devereaux a murderer before being dragged from the room." Sherlock paused again, pulling another file closer to him. "The criminal record for the brother, Henry Masters, makes for interesting reading. However, it is clear from his crimes, and from the evidence relating to them which helped to secure his conviction, that he is a highly volatile individual, who is of below average intelligence, poorly organised and rather hap-hazard. His personality and his crimes are not consistent with the well-thought out kidnapping plot of two young children. If he were guilty, there is a significant chance that we would have found something by now, something he carelessly discarded at a crime scene. The children almost certainly would not still be missing." Sherlock breathed in deeply, staring towards the ceiling for a few moments. He was brought from his thoughts by Joan.

"What about the candy wrapper?" She asked pensively, meeting Sherlock's gaze. "The one found at the abduction scene. If he is as clumsy and poorly organised as you believe him to be, it could be his fingerprint and DNA on that wrapper." Sherlock watched her intently for a few seconds, nodding rapidly.

"Excellent, Watson, yes. I will alert Captain Gregson at once. We should have his fingerprints on file, possibly not his DNA, but it's worth looking into." Sherlock rose from his seat and stood in the doorway, calling over to the Captain, who approached them immediately. Sherlock informed him of Joan's theory, which Gregson listened to with interest, nodding at intervals.

"Good job, Miss Watson. I'll have my guys check it out now." Gregson stared down at his watch, before looking from Sherlock to Joan. "It's after ten, why don't you guys go home, get some rest, and we'll reconvene in the morning? I'll get onto this right away, and will call you the minute I get the results. Alright?" Sherlock nodded slowly, turning and walking towards Joan, who was now rising from the chair. Her legs ached slightly from the position she had been sitting in for the past two hours, and she yawned slightly as she turned to pick up her bag from the table. As she reached behind her for her coat, she felt her hand touch Sherlock's taut abdomen, causing her tot run around immediately, mumbling an urgent apology. When she turned, she saw that he was standing directly behind her, holding her coat for her. She smiled gratefully and eased herself into the coat, drawing close to her. As she stretched her arms through the arms of the coat, she felt Sherlock's strong, warm hands rest on her shoulders for a moment, before he nodded politely to her and moved towards the door, holding it open for her. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she thanked him, and led him through the precinct towards her car.

Sherlock and Joan arrived back at the brownstone shortly before eleven, and Joan threw herself upon the couch in the living area, leaning back, allowing it to embrace her comfortingly. Sherlock walked into the room and watched her for a few moments, as she reclined tiredly upon the couch, her eyes closed and her features tired.

"You should rest, Watson. I have a feeling that tomorrow will be very eventful." He spoke gently, and in such a kind and considerate manner that Joan was drawn from her momentary rest.

"I can't sleep." She stated simply, staring at the ceiling. "I mean, I couldn't. Not yet, with the events of the day so fresh in my mind." She sat forward slowly and stretched her arms in front of her, before standing up quickly and moving towards the kitchen. "I'm gonna make some soup, do you want anything?" She called back to Sherlock, not turning around. Sherlock watched her as she walked, before walking over to his desk and leaning over the mountain of files which adorned it.

"Soup would be wonderful, thank you Watson."

A few minutes later Joan brought two steaming bowls of soup into the living area, passing Sherlock his as he moved slowly towards his armchair. As she passed it to him, their fingers met on the bowl for just a moment, but it was enough to cause them both to stop what they were doing and meet each other's gaze. Joan smiled sweetly before slowly moving away from him, and seating herself on the red couch. The soup was hot and comforting, and she ate it slowly, unaware of her hunger until she began to consume it. She and Sherlock sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their hot soup with care as the cool air from outside flooded the room, comforting them both and putting them at their ease. As she was eating her soup, Joan became aware of how quiet the brownstone was, and the silence began to feel slightly overwhelming. Her thoughts were drawn away from the case and her hunger, and to the issue which she had been thinking about almost constantly for the past two weeks. She looked towards Sherlock as she thought about her pregnancy, and pondered how she would be able to tell him of their baby. She averted her gaze from him quickly, wondering to herself if she would ever find the right time. A deep, fearful sadness swept over her for a moment, completely overtaking her emotions. She placed the spoon into the half-full bowl, which she placed carefully on the ground, before sitting up straight on the couch.

"Watson? Is everything alright?" Sherlock asked calmly, placing his own spoon in his bowl and looking over her with concern. He placed the bowl onto the table by his armchair and leaned forward slightly, staring at her imploringly with a thoughtful and concerned gaze. She didn't know how long she looked at him and considered his kind expression before replying, but it was long enough for him to have stood up from his seat and walked slowly towards her, and seating himself on the other end of the sofa. She was drawn from her thoughts by an awareness of his presence, and she could feel his large, inquisitive eyes watching her curiously. "Watson, are you quite alright?" He spoke in a kinder and softer tone than before, which Joan did not think was possible. She looked up to him immediately, and offered him a tired smile.

"Yes. Yes, of course." She began, not breaking eye contact with him, but wishing more than anything to avert his all-knowing stare. "I'm just tired, that's all. And this case is just so" she broke off, unable to think of the words. "So troubling, you know?" She continued, and Sherlock watched her with care and consideration, listening to her patiently. "Usually we have more leads, more evidence, something more to go on. But it feels as though we are constantly ten steps behind, and we have no idea how these children are, or where they are." She rose her hands in frustration, before clasping her hands together and placing them in her lap. "And the parents. I mean, I can't imagine what-" she paused abruptly, which Sherlock noticed immediately, and he watched her curiously as she continued. "Seeing their pain made me feel even more helpless than I already did. And what if the girls aren't... if they aren't okay? I gave that woman false hope this afternoon." She stopped talking for a few moments, running over the words in her head. What she had just told Sherlock was completely true, these were her true concerns. She felt helpless, hopeless, and unable to help the investigation or recovery of those poor children. And every time she thought about the parents or missing children, she thought about Sherlock and their baby, and was struck by a sense of fear and overwhelming guilt and conflict. Sherlock seemed to pick up on her unease, and he moved slightly closer towards her, causing her to look up at him with tired eyes. "I'm sorry, I... I'm just tired." She sighed and smiled, trying to regain her composure, and with notable success.

"Watson, I" Sherlock began, before pausing for just a moment and continuing. "What you did today was remarkable. You were able to give that woman a level of reassurance and contentment which she has not experienced as of late. Your presence and your kindness helped to uncover a very viable line of enquiry, and you identified a piece of evidence which may be linked to that enquiry." He spoke in a quiet yet confident tone, which reassured Joan, who was watching him as he spoke. "I assure you, you have been far from useless, and are far from helpless. Your work and your perspective have led to significant developments being made in this case, which I am confident will lead to the recovery of the girls." He paused once more, allowing Joan to take in his words. "And you did not lie to the mother, or give her false hope. The hope you gave her is very tangible and very real. From the type of crime this was, the lack of publicity and the fact that no ransom demand has been sent, I believe it highly likely that these girls are still alive, and are being looked after because it is necessary to do so. They are clearly part of something which we are yet to touch upon, but whatever that is, it requires them to be kept alive. Otherwise, we would have found something to the contrary." Sherlock sounded so confident that Joan found it difficult not to believe him. They had discussed the statistics on child abductions, but had also established that this particular incident was so unusual as to defy statistics and conventional analysis. Joan nodded slowly, and thanked him. He did not reply, but his bright eyes wandered across her face, and held her gaze confidently for a few moments. She smiled tiredly once more, and shifted in her seat before pushing herself up from the couch.

"I think I'm going to go to-" before she could finish her sentence, Joan experienced the same dizzy sensation which had afflicted her a couple of weeks ago in the park. She felt very light-headed, almost as though she was floating, and she reached for the side of the couch. Sherlock reacted quickly, calling her name once before rising from his seat and placing his hands upon her waist, holding her steady before trying to ease her back towards the couch. The feeling of his hands upon her body reminded her of that night, and she felt her dizziness subside as quickly as it came. She perched herself on the arm of the couch and looked up towards him, concern defining his features. He stared down at her with a mixture of concern and compassion, before kneeling in front of her, and placing his hand on her right cheek, looking into her eyes.

"Watson, are-"

"Sorry, I... I'm just tired, really." She interrupted, shifting slightly on the arm of the couch as she placed her hand on the hand he held on her cheek, which he then used to entwine their fingers as she held their hands by her side. She looked down towards Sherlock's face, willing herself to make eye contact with him. She felt fine now, and knew her dizziness was most likely due to the fact that she had been up for the past thirty four hours and had barely eaten. As she stared deep into his concerned, wide eyes she felt her breath leave her body, and she felt almost weightless. His concern for her touched her deeply, and the kind look on his face made her believe that he truly would want to help her, to comfort her, to be open to discussion about their baby. Looking into his eyes, she found it hard to believe that he would be angry with her, or disappointed. She also began to doubt her previous fears that he would not be able to emotionally deal with the news of her pregnancy. Gazing down at him, she wished she could tell him everything, right then. But her eyes wandered over to the pictures and papers which decorated the wall opposite her. It was covered with official reports and documents, photographs, and even a few of Jenny's drawings. Joan swallowed, averting her eyes from the pictures and staring back at Sherlock, who was looking at her with increased concern.

"Watson, I know that I can be difficult, and that I am not the most" he thought for a moment, squeezing her hand reassuringly as he spoke. "I am not the most easy man to discuss certain things with. But I want you to know that if there is every something you are concerned about, if there is ever anything you wish to discuss, I am here. I will always be here, and I would be honoured and humbled if you felt able to talk to me." It took everything Joan had not to burst into tears, throw herself at Sherlock and beg for his forgiveness. Instead, she breathed in slowly and returned his kind stare, and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I promise you, everything is fine." She smiled at him, a smile which he almost believed, as she was certainly beginning to. "Everything will be fine. I just... I just need to sleep." She shifted from the arm of the couch, causing Sherlock to stand up quickly, their hands still connected. They stood for a few moments, gazing at each other in the relative darkness of the room, before Sherlock turned slightly, placing his free hand on Joan's lower back and walking her towards the staircase. Neither of them said another word, but as they reached the bottom of the step they exchanged a kind and reassuring look, both assuring the other that everything was going to be alright. It really was. Joan stood on the first step and turned back to see Sherlock, before smiling at him kindly. She slowly released her hand from his own, and he watched her as she walked up the stairs, before he retreated back into the living room. He sat in his armchair for a few minutes, staring at the seat which had just been occupied by Joan Watson. He replayed the events and conversation over in his head, desperately trying to make connections. Something was clearly troubling her, something which she felt was either irrelevant or too painful to discuss. Seeing her in such turmoil made his stomach clench and his heart ache, and filled him with strong feelings which he was not completely familiar with. He decided to be patient, to give Joan her time and space, and hope that she would feel able to talk to him when she was ready. He remained sat meditatively in the chair for another hour, before slowly making his way to his room, and allowing himself some sleep for the first time in two days.

After reaching the top of the stairs, Joan slowly made her way to her room, and changed into a large, loose-fitting t-shirt before opening the window slightly, allowing a cool breeze to enter the room. The feel of the wind gently caressing her face reminded her of how she felt the morning after she and Sherlock had slept together, when she had stood by this very window. She pursed her lips and moved towards her bed, perching herself on the side of it. She turned to her left, and picked up her bag, which she had thrown on the bed upon entering the room. She slowly extracted her wallet and unzipped it, before moving her fingers behind a photograph she had of herself and her brother in one section of her wallet. From behind it she drew out the ultrasound picture, and held it with both hands, before running her right index finger along the baby's features. She inhaled sharply as she felt her eyes welling with tears, and she gazed at the image for a few more minutes before replacing it. She turned off the lamp by her bedside and eased herself into the bed, pulling the blankets over her, and falling asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. She slept soundly for a few hours, before finding herself sitting upright in the bed, her hand reaching towards her stomach. She was feeling unwell, as if woken by the dizziness which had afflicted her that night. She sat still for a moment, before feeling a sharp pain in her abdomen, which caused her to wrap her arms around her abdomen and lean forward breathlessly. She inhaled deeply and tried to breathe deeply, tears filling her eyes as she clasped one hand over her mouth, and rested one on her stomach.


	6. Chapter 6

Joan remained seated on the bed for a few minutes, breathing in deeply as she continued to feel a sharp pain in her abdomen. The pain began to subside, and she was able to calm herself significantly before composing herself. Despite the pain having stopped for the time being, she knew that she needed to seek medical advice. Her first instinct, the moment she felt the pain, was to call for Sherlock. His bedroom was just across the hall, and he was a very light sleeper, so he would certainly hear her. But she dispelled this thought the moment it entered her head, she could not bear for him to find out this way, especially if there was something wrong. She didn't want to put him through that too. Joan exhaled slowly and reached to her bedside table, picked up her phone and began to dial. She called a cab, asking it to pick her up immediately from the brownstone and take her to the hospital. She tried to sound calm on the phone, and hide the fear and pain in her voice, but she was not overly successful. After hanging up, she pushed her blankets aside and gently eased herself off the bed, planting her feet firmly on the ground, before being struck by another sharp pain. She bent over slightly, placing her hand on her abdomen, as she breathed in deeply, calming herself as the pain subsided. She slowly made her way across the room, picking up a pair of jeans, a loose fitting white shirt and her brown boots. She dressed quickly, grabbing a jacket and her bag as she slowly crept from the room, closing the door gently behind her. She paused on the landing for a moment, and stared towards Sherlock's bedroom door. For a moment, she considered walking across the hall, waking him up, apologising profusely and asking him to go with her. As she stared towards the door, she reaffirmed her former thoughts, and decided that she could not tell him like this, it would be too much. She turned towards the staircase and held onto the bannister as she slowly made her way down the stairs, before leaving the building quietly.

As soon as she stepped outside, Joan took her phone from her pocket and checked the time, which was half-past three. The street was virtually deserted, and Joan was immediately struck by both the coldness and silence, which only seemed to make her frightened thoughts seem louder. She walked slowly and cautiously down the steps of the brownstone and onto the street, leaning under a lamppost as the taxi slowly drove up to Joan. She walked out from under the bright, artificial light, and strolled over towards the taxi, pulling her jacket closely to her as she sat herself in the back seat. The cool leather felt soothing against her burning skin, and she felt herself leaning into the material, trying to keep herself as calm and relaxed as possible. She felt the occasional dull, aching pain during the journey, but nothing like the intense and overwhelming pain which she had previously been experiencing. The fact that she was experiencing less pain gave her hope that the baby was okay, which allowed her to control her breathing. As the taxi pulled up outside the hospital, Joan paid the driver and thanked him, before easing herself from her seat and making her way to the emergency room. The automatic doors opened slowly, and Joan turned her head away from the bright, artificial lights which flooded the building. Joan stepped into the building cautiously, scanning the room quickly as she made her way towards the desk at the opposite end of the large room. She found herself walking more quickly and confidently as the nurse behind the desk turned towards her approaching figure, placing a file down on and looking towards her kindly.

"Hi, I-" Joan reached the desk and pulled her jacket across her chest, her fear and discomfort returning. "I'm pregnant, and I have been experiencing sharp abdominal pain and cramps, and I-" Joan broke off as she felt another sharp pain in her stomach, causing her to lean forwards and grip the desk. She could hear the nurse talking, but she was not focused on what she was saying. Joan became aware of the nurse moving from the desk, and was trying to control her breathing when she felt a small hand on her lower back. The pain began to subside, and Joan was able to focus on the nurse who was standing behind her, and turned to face her. "I'm sorry, I-"

"You don't have to apologise, hunny" the nurse interrupted, speaking kindly yet with a distinct air of authority. "It's alright, we're gonna get you seen to, okay? Can you walk?"

"Yeah, yeah I can walk." Joan replied in a quiet tone, turning around as the nurse moved to stand by her side, placing one arm across her back and resting a hand on her shoulder, as she led her through to a cubicle. The cubicle was small, contained a bed and a chair, and was separated from others by long, light green curtains. The nurse led Joan towards the bed, and eased her gently upon it, before moving to stand directly in front of her.

"Alright, what's your name, Miss?" The nurse asked kindly, looking at Joan sympathetically.

"Joan Watson" she replied, breathing in slowly and calming herself.

"Okay Miss Watson. And how far gone are you?" She spoke in the same calm and gentle manner as before, which reassured Joan considerably, and her voice became less shaky and quiet with each response.

"Ten weeks." She stated, meeting the nurse's gaze. The nurse nodded, and gently asked her to repeat her symptoms, which she did. The nurse's face remained calm and kind, and she nodded at intervals as Joan explained her pain, its duration, and the dizziness she experienced the previous night.

"Alright, Miss Watson. Now, what I would like to do first is get an ultrasound machine in here and have your baby checked, just to be safe. Then I would like you to change into a gown, and a doctor will examine you. Is that alright?" She asked gently, and Joan nodded. As a former doctor, she was aware of what was going to happen, and understood the possible outcomes of her symptoms.

"Thank you, yes. I..." her voice became quieter as she continued, and she inhaled deeply to regain some composure, before continuing, "I really need to know that my baby's okay, and-". Before she could continue the nurse had stepped closer to her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"I understand, Miss Watson. I am going to get you one right away, and we will check on your baby in just a few minutes, okay? Alright. Now, could you please lie back, try to relax, and I will be right back, okay?" She spoke with great warmth and sincerity, and Joan once more felt reassured, nodding to the nurse, who squeezed her shoulder reassuringly before leaving the cubicle. When she heard the sound of the curtain closing, she sighed deeply, held her face in her hands and ran her fingers through her hair. She breathed in slowly, before pushing herself further onto the bed and resting her head on the pillow. She placed her now clasped hands over her abdomen, before unclasping them slowly, and resting her right hand on her abdomen. She looked down towards her stomach, extending her fingers and running her hand across her abdomen, before keeping her hand still. She could feel the warmth and comfort of her own touch radiating through her body, and for the first time in the past hour or so, she finally began to feel as though everything was going to be okay. This thought was quickly overtaken by her pre-existing fear and concern, which was brought to the surface when the nurse reappeared in the cubicle with the ultrasound machine. She smiled kindly at Joan as she began to set the machine up, and Joan slowly lay back on the bed, her hand not moving from her stomach.

"Okay, Miss Watson, we're ready. When you're ready, would you please raise your shirt?" Joan nodded, and slowly moved her hand to the bottom of her shirt, raising it to reveal her abdomen. She could not bear to look down, or to the screen, she was terrified. Instead, she gripped the handrail of the bed with her right hand and stared up at the ceiling. She felt the nurse apply the gel to her stomach, and was conscious of her speaking some kind words of compassion and reassurance. Joan replied mechanically to her questions, and was only drawn from her confused thoughts and attempts to control her breathing by the nurse placing her hand upon her shoulder, to draw her attention towards the screen.

"Miss Watson, your baby is perfectly fine." Joan turned her head to the monitor and examined it closely, her eyes darting across the screen. "The baby is a healthy size, developing very well, and is showing no signs of distress." Joan exhaled sharply, clasped her hand over her mouth, and felt a few tears fall from her tired eyes. She felt overcome with relief, and seeing her child on the monitor made her heart swell. She calmed herself after a few seconds and thanked the nurse kindly, before wiping her tears away and apologising.

"You have nothing to apologise for, Miss Watson, nothing at all. The main thing is that we know your baby is safe, healthy and unharmed. However, your symptoms are concerning, and so I would still like the doctor to check you over, and we will see if we can get to the bottom of this." She spoke calmly but firmly, and Joan nodded. She had not felt any pain in the last ten minutes or so, which was a relief, and reassured her immensely. Before Joan could talk to the nurse, the curtain was pulled aside and a tall, athletic doctor in his mid forties entered the room, smiling reassuringly at Joan as he entered.

"You must be Miss Watson. I'm Doctor Kennedy" he walked slowly towards her and stood by her side, and continued talking as she rubbed the gel from her stomach and adjusted her shirt. The doctor looked towards the monitor, then exchanged a few words with the nurse, before turning towards Joan. "Miss Watson, Nurse Jameson tells me that your baby is fine. I've reviewed your preliminary notes, and just have a few more questions before I examine you, if you are comfortable with that?" Joan nodded slowly, moving herself into a sitting position. The doctor asked Joan about the symptoms she had come in with, previous symptoms, and her current state of health. He seemed satisfied with the answers she gave, nodding perceptibly as she responded calmly and confidently. After learning that her baby was safe, she felt elated, and her voice and demeanour slowly returned to normal.

"How have you been sleeping, Miss Watson?" The doctor asked, turning towards her when she did not answer his question as quickly as she had answered the others.

"Not as well as I should." She confessed, her voice dropping slightly. "My job is quite demanding, and we have been working on a particularly trying case." The doctor nodded in understanding, and placed his clipboard down upon the seat to Joan's left, before continuing his questions.

"And when was the last time you ate?" Joan reflected on this question for a few moments, before telling him of the soup she had the night before. When he asked her what she had eaten over the past few days, she struggled to recollect it. The doctor nodded slowly, before moving slowly towards her, and placing one hand on the side of the bed. "Miss Watson, you are exhausted, and it does not sound as though you are getting the nutrients that you and your baby need." Joan nodded slowly, clasping her hands together and resting them in her lap.

"I understand, thank you." Joan responded sincerely to the words of the doctor, who smiled politely back at her.

"Of course." He stated, removing his hand from her bed and continuing to talk. "Miss Watson, would you allow me to examine you?" Joan consented, and the doctor left the cubicle whilst she changed. When he returned, he explained what he was going to do, answering her questions candidly and with consideration. After the examination, he left the cubicle to allow her to redress, and spoke with the nurse outside. Joan dressed herself quickly and perched on the end of the bed, before reaching for her bag and grabbing her phone, checking the time. It was currently just after four-thirty, and she was relieved to see that she had no missed calls or messages. By the time she had placed the phone in her bag and put her jacket on the doctor and nurse had returned, and the nurse stood next to her while the doctor remained at the foot of the bed.

"Miss Watson, as I told you shortly after the examination, you appear to be fine. Your symptoms have subsided, you have no cramping or bleeding, and your heart rate and blood pressure is fine. Your baby is fine, very healthy and very strong." He paused, allowing her to absorb his words. "I believe your symptoms could be a combination of some pain which many pregnant women experience during this stage, as well as your exhaustion and lack of nutrients." Joan agreed, and thanked him and the nurse for their help.

"Are you happy for me to be discharged?" She asked, looking from the nurse to the doctor.

"Yes, Miss Watson. But on the understanding that you get some rest. Call your boss, tell him you need to take a couple of days off. Rest, relax, eat and recuperate. You need it, your body needs it, and so does your baby. I will send a copy of your notes from today to your doctor, who I recommend you seeing within the next week. If you have any other problems, please come straight back, alright?" Joan nodded, and thanked him once more as she gathered her things. The nurse passed her bag to her, and helped her from the bed, before walking her through to the reception area. Joan thanked her once more, before walking out of the building and hailing a cab. On the journey back to the brownstone, she considered the events of the past few hours. They did not seem real somehow, and as she was driven through the calm and tranquil streets as the sun was beginning to rise, she felt as though she was waking up from a dream. But she wasn't. When she thought of the experience she had just had, the first thing her mind went to was the knowledge that her baby was healthy, strong and developing well. She then remembered the cautious instructions of the doctor, which made her consider her current situation. She had not been sleeping, she had barely eaten, and as a result her baby was in danger. She thought she was fine, healthy, and dealing with the situation as best as she could under the circumstances. But as the taxi turned the corner into her street, she realised that perhaps it was not quite enough.

Joan thanked the driver, passing him his fare, before easing herself out of the car and opening her bag, delving inside to search for her keys. It was just before five in the morning, and the sky was a misty grey, with the morning light hovering uncertainly above the rooftops of the brownstones. Joan picked up her keys and ascended the stairs, before quietly and gradually unlocking the door, trying not to make a sound. As she entered the brownstone, she was relieved to find that it was in almost total darkness, with no sounds to be heard from upstairs. She placed her bag on the floor and removed her jacket, placing it on the coat rack. As she bent down to retrieve her bag, she heard the familiar steps of Sherlock as he descended the stairs. He had clearly not been awake for long, as he appeared to be slightly dishevelled and unsteady. He had quickly dressed himself, throwing on a pair of dark trousers, black shoes and a light jumper. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he looked towards Joan, confusion etched across his face. She froze, and allowed her arms to fall slowly by her sides, as she and Sherlock stared at each other for a moment.

"Watson?" He asked, sounding more alert than he looked. He surveyed her quickly, noting that she was wearing different clothes from the night before, was holding her keys in her left hand, and appeared tired and weary. "Watson, what is it?" He asked, approaching her slowly. The look of concern in his eyes touched her deeply, and was almost enough to make her reveal her secret. Almost. Joan was broken from her meditative thoughts by the ringing of Sherlock's phone, which was buzzing and glowing in his trouser pocket. "Just a moment, Watson" Sherlock spoke calmly, picking up his phone and checking the called ID. "It's Captain Gregson, I will call him ba-"

"No, Sherlock, it could be important" she answered, feigning confidence and contentment. "Answer it, it's fine." Sherlock looked at her uncertainly for a few moments before following her advice. He and Gregson spoke for just a few moments, their conversation causing Sherlock's eyes to widen and dart impatiently around the room.

"Yes Captain, of course, we will be with you presently." He hung up the phone and placed it back in his pocket, before looking up to meet Joan's stare. She was clearly tired, and was trying to adopt a more awake and alert demeanour, which Sherlock saw through immediately, which enhanced his existing concern. He waited for a few moments, hoping she would begin the conversation. Instead, she simply stared at him, before breaking eye contact and looking at the floor, and looking up once again.

"What did Gregson want?" She asked amiably. Sherlock remained perfectly still and continued to watch her, almost as if he felt that, if he looked at her for long enough, he would realise what was wrong. He realised that Joan would not discuss her mysterious actions now, but would be more focused on the case. The call he received was important, and he knew that trying to discuss anything else with Joan would prove futile. For the time being, at least.

"He rang me about ten minutes ago, and informed me that Mrs Devereaux was kidnapped from just outside her home about an hour ago. She had gone for an early morning run and, upon returning to her house, was grabbed by two unknown individuals, dressed completely in black, and bundled into a car. The husband witnessed the entire event. He was aware she had left, noticed her running shoes were missing, and decided to wait up for her. By the time he got downstairs, the car was gone." Sherlock paused, observing Joan's stunned and perplexed expression. "Captain Gregson's most recent call was to inform us that Mr Devereaux has just received a package containing a ransom demand and video footage of his daughters and his wife. He would like us to meet him at the Devereaux residence immediately." Sherlock paused, looking back up to Joan, who seemed to be deep in thought. She had intended on coming home and resting, hoping to sleep for three or four hours, before working on the case from home. But the disappearance of the wife and emergence of crucial evidence caused her to reconsider her plan. She remembered the doctor's words, and her assurance that she would rest for a few days. "Watson?" Sherlock asked, walking slowly towards her. She was drawn from her thoughts by an awareness of his approaching figure, and she looked up to face him with tired eyes. "Watson, what is going on? Are you alright?" It was unusual to see Sherlock so perplexed, so completely bewildered. This made Joan feel very uneasy, as did the prospect of continuing to lie to him. But she had to. She could not tell him now, and risk the lives of Mrs Devereaux and her children. With the new evidence, she hoped that they would be closer to solving the case and ensuring a positive result. "Watson." Sherlock spoke, as he placed his hands gently upon her shoulders and drew her attention to him. She stared up at his large, sanguine eyes, and began to speak.

"We should leave. I just need to go upstairs and change quickly, and then we can-"

"Watson." Sherlock repeated, slightly firmer than he had before, but in a tone expressing more concern than anger. "Watson, tell me what is wrong. Let me help you." She breathed in deeply, and forced herself to remain calm as she spoke.

"I will. I really will. But first we need to continue with this case, and find the girls and their mother." She spoke calmly but confidently, and offered him a tired smile before continuing. "I promise you, Sherlock, I am fine. I-"

"You keep saying that you are fine, Watson" Sherlock began, speaking calmly, yet with a clear edge of concern. "But you aren't fine, are you? Something is clearly troubling you. Watson, let me help you. Please"

His kindness and sincerity tugged at Joan's heart, but she knew that this was not the time or the place for the conversation they needed to have. "Thank you, Sherlock. I'm sorry, and I understand your concerns, and I promise you that we will address them. I am fine, I will be fine, and we will talk. But right now we need to go to the Devereaux house and help find this family." Sherlock continued to watch her, looking at her with a mixture of concern and confusion. After what felt like an eternity, he slowly nodded, and removed his hands from her shoulders. She moved towards the stairs, but was stopped in her tracks as he reached out his hand and clasped her own. She turned slowly, facing him with a curious mixture of tiredness and determination, and he squeezed her hand reassuringly, before releasing it. She knew how concerned he must be, and she knew that she was running out of time to tell him. The very thing she had been trying to avoid, hurting him or causing him any pain or torment, would be unavoidable if she continued to conceal her pregnancy. She was thinking over her options as she dressed and applied make-up, which made her feel much fresher and more awake. She left her room feeling as conflicted and tired as she had when she arrived back from the hospital, but tried to act as normal as possible in order to reassure Sherlock, who held the door open for her as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Joan drove them to the Devereaux household, and they spoke of nothing but the case for the duration of the journey. Sherlock's demeanour and comments were consistent with his usual behaviour, which reassured Joan greatly, as he had intended it would. Unknown to both Sherlock and Joan, each of them was putting on a display of confidence and normality in order to protect the other.

As soon as they arrived at the house the gravity of the situation became immediately apparent. There were four police cars parked outside, as well as a news van, and Captain Gregson was standing on the front porch, summoning Sherlock and Joan, who walked briskly towards the house.

"Thanks for coming, I really appreciate it." Gregson began, as he led Sherlock and Joan through the house and into the living room, which was occupied by several police officers.

"Not at all, Captain." Sherlock began, strolling into the room with his hands in his jacket pockets. "So, what has happened?"

"The husband received the note and the tape about three quarters of an hour after his wife's disappearance. It was delivered by another jogger, who was paid a hundred bucks to do so, and remembers relatively little about the guy who paid her. Although the height, weight and hair colour she gave us is consistent with Henry Masters." Sherlock and Joan nodded, and waited patiently for Gregson to continue. "The film shows the two girls, who appear to be clean, healthy and well taken care of, in some kinda building, with their mother. Mrs Devereaux is wearing the same clothing she left the house in this morning, and from an initial review our tech guys believe the tape to be genuine and untampered with. The tape itself is actually a recording, which was placed on a memory stick and delivered with a typed note." Gregson passed Sherlock an evidence bag containing the note, which he held in front of him so Joan could also see it. The note was very brief, just three lines long. It read: 'If you wish to see you wife and children again, you must pay the sum of $1,000,000. You have twenty four hours to acquire the money. Further instructions will follow.' Sherlock and Joan exchanged a glance, before Sherlock passed the note back to Gregson and began to walk around the room.

"Captain, may we view the recording?" Sherlock asked. Gregson nodded, and had one of the technicians bring the memory stick to him, which he inserted into the laptop. As the technician left, Mr Devereaux entered the room, appearing tired and utterly grief-stricken. Joan moved towards him, offering him some words of reassurance, and assured him that they were doing everything they could to locate his family. His face remained impassive, and he simply nodded politely at her comments, before walking towards the laptop and watching the recording once more. Joan seated herself next to Sherlock on the sofa, and the recording way played. It was brief, barely over a minute long. It showed the two girls sitting contently at a small table in a large room with a single window, magnolia walls and stained floorboards. The girls appeared to be deep in concentration, focusing on their drawings. They were both wearing identical white dresses, and they appeared to be neat, tidy and well looked after. One of the girls, who Sherlock recognised as Jenny, was clutching a stuffed cat toy close to her chest. After about thirty seconds, the figure of Mrs Devereaux could be seen entering the room cautiously, before rushing towards her daughters, who ran towards her. She crouched down and appeared to speak to them, their small heads nodding in agreement. As Mrs Devereaux turned around, the recording ended. Sherlock and Joan were silent for a few moments, reflecting on the tape.

"The cat toy" Sherlock began, addressing Mr Devereaux. "It was the only toy in the room, and appeared to have a particular sentimental meaning to your daughter. Is it Jenny's?"

Mr Devereaux inhaled slowly, released a breath, and began to talk. "It, uh... yes. Yes, it is. My wife joined a charity about three weeks ago which helps children from deprived areas make toys from discarded materials. My wife enjoyed the process, said she found it relaxing. One of the girls, I believe it was Jenny, asked my wife to show her how to make the toys too, so all three of them worked together on the toy. It was finished the day before the girls were-" The husband broke off, clearing his throat before pushing himself up from the sofa. "Please, Mr Holmes, Miss Watson," he began, panic entering his voice, "please find my family."

"We will" responded Sherlock immediately. "I assure you, Mr Devereaux, we will."

Sherlock and Joan remained at the house for just over an hour, discussing the ransom demand with Mr Devereaux and the police. Sherlock expressed his concerns over the demands, claiming that they were inconsistent with typical kidnapping cases.

"When a ransom demand is issued, it is issued immediately. Not two weeks after the incident, and certainly not after another kidnapping. It does not make sense. I would argue that the ransom demand was a cover, designed to distract us from the event we should be focusing on. Whoever is behind this wants us to focus on obtaining the money in the set period of time, so we will not focus on the factors which could reveal the identity of the kidnappers." Sherlock scanned the confused expressions on the faces of the people in the room, with the exception of Joan who was watching him intently. "Mrs Devereaux is clearly the target, and has been from the start. In the last two weeks, something which should have happened did not, which has caused the kidnappers to take drastic action. The reasons for this are unclear. What is clear, however, is that we are missing something. We need to delve further into her life, examine her friends, colleagues, family, and establish exactly who it is who is mounting so personal and so cruel an attack."

"I still like Masters for this, that's as personal a connection as you can get. He fits the criteria. And he certainly blamed her for his brother's death." Gregson stated, walking from the fireplace to the window.

"I agree, Captain" Sherlock responded promptly. "Mr Masters is certainly a viable suspect. But that does not change the fact that the modus operandi for his previous offences are not consistent with the well thought-out and planned nature of this particular crime. We are missing something, something huge." Sherlock sighed in frustration, before resuming his seat next to Joan. "We need to focus on Mrs Devereaux. Not her cases, not her job, but her. She as an individual. I'm certain that is where we will find our answer. Have her friends and colleagues been interviewed?" Gregson confirmed that they had been, but with relatively little luck. They all seemed to agree that Sandra Devereaux was a rather private and reserved individual, who seldom discussed her concerns or grievances. Joan looked up at the Captain as he spoke, and turned quickly to Sherlock.

"She may not have spoken to her friends, but there is someone she would have spoken to in great detail about such things." She began, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. "Her counsellor. Sandra mentioned that after the death of Masters, she sought counselling. She claimed she stopped attending six months ago, but if the link to her past and her kidnapping pre-dates half a year, she may have mentioned something to her counsellor that could help us."

"Yes, Watson, I believe you may be right." Sherlock responded kindly, before turning to Mr Devereaux. "Do you know the name of your wife's former counsellor?"

Mr Devereaux thought for a few moments, before walking over to a small table by the side of one of the sofas and opening a drawer. He searched through the drawer in a hurried manner before extracting a small, leather bound book, which he proceeded to flick through. "This is my wife's contact book, the counsellor's details should be in here. I remember the counsellor was female, and her surname began with an L..." he stopped talking for a moment, as he ran his finger down a page, before looking up triumphantly. "Emily Lake, that's it. Her address is listed too." He passed the book to Watson, who made a note of the address.

"I recognise her name. She specialises in cases involving grief and PTSD, she's written a number of medical papers on the subjects. Her home phone number is listed, I'll call her now and arrange to meet with her urgently." She thanked the husband, before standing up and leaving the room. Sherlock watched her for a moment, before staring forward, then pushing himself from his seat and following her to the door.

"Watson!" he called as he reached the open front door, causing Joan to turn around and ascend the three steps she had descended. She stood a few feet away from him, looking up at him expectantly. "I wanted to apologise for my behaviour at the brownstone this morning, especially if I seemed over-protective or demanding. It was not my intention to make you feel trapped or frightened, or uncomfortable in any way." Sherlock was watching Joan as he spoke, and was relieved to find her looking at him kindly. "I certainly did not intend to force you into talking to me about something which you do not feel able to. As I told you last night, I understand that I am not the easiest person to talk to. But if there is something you need, something I can do, I am more thank willing, Watson. I am always willing. Never doubt that." Joan thanked him, and assured him he had nothing to apologise for. Before departing, she moved slowly towards him, and planted a chaste kiss upon his right cheek. He watched her as she walked down the stairs and towards her car, and felt his whole body tense at her temporary absence.


	7. Chapter 7

About an hour later, Joan was walking into a large, busy building on the upper West side. She made her way briskly and confidently to the front desk, stated her name and the person she had the appointment with, and was asked to take a seat. A few minutes later, she was drawn from her thoughts by someone who was gently calling her name.

"Miss Watson?" The voice asked pleasantly. Joan turned, looking at the woman standing next to her. She recognised Emily Lake immediately, she had read several of her articles, one of her books, and had a guest lecture by her when she was still in college. She did not appear to have aged at all over the past decade, and was staring at Joan kindly with her wide, brown eyes. Emily Lake was in her late fifties, but looked much younger, She had long, dark hair which was elegantly styled, and wore a flattering fitted black suit and white blouse. As she spoke, her left hand rested on a silver locket which hung across her neck, and she was clutching a fresh cup of coffee in her right hand. She smiled kindly at Joan, who introduced herself, and Miss Lake led her through the building and towards her office.

The office was spacious, light and beautifully decorated. At the back of the office were a couple of ornate bookcases stacked high with medical and psychological texts, which overlooked the large couch and comfortable chairs in the room. Miss Lake's neatly organised desk was towards the back of the room near one of the large windows, and scenic images of various countries in Europe and South America hung on the walls. Joan gazed around admirably and complemented her hose on the room. The counsellor thanked her warmly, and invited her to sit on the couch, before seating herself in the black leather armchair a few feet away from Joan.

"Now, from your phone call this morning, I understand you wish to discuss something about one of my former clients, as a matter of urgency?" She asked cautiously, crossing her legs and relaxing into the chair, placing her coffee cup on the table in between them. Joan glanced at the coffee for a moment, watching as the warm vapours slowly began to rise as, and the strong scent of the coffee filled the room.

"Yes, that's right. I know that confidentiality is an issue, but the woman in question was abducted this morning, two weeks after her twin daughters were taken."

"Sandra was kidnapped?" The counsellor asked, shock passing across her face. She recovered herself quickly and continued talking. "I remember seeing the coverage of her daughters' disappearance, the poor woman. She's been through quite an ordeal."

Joan nodded in assent, before posing some questions. "Miss Lake, we believe that the kidnappings are personal, and have something to do with Mrs Devereaux's personal life, so I was hoping to ask you whether-"

"Whether she had any enemies, secrets, or was involved in anything covert or illicit?" Miss Lake asked, shifting in her seat as she leaned forward. "Yes, well, as you have mentioned, confidentiality prevents me from going into detail, but from our sessions, which lasted over a year, she did not mention anything in relation to illicit or criminal behaviour. Not on her own part, at least. We occasionally discussed a case she was concerned about." Miss Lake paused for a moment, and looked up to see Joan looking rather pale, her eyes glancing towards the coffee on the table, before turning her head slightly to the side and breathing in deeply. "Are you alright, Miss Watson?" The counsellor asked, her tone filled with kindness and compassion. Joan placed a hand over her mouth and nodded, assuring her she was fine, and was about to ask her another question when Miss Lake rose from her seat and crossed the room to the water cooler. She poured a cup for Joan and carried it over to her, before picking up the coffee from the table and throwing it in a trash can near her desk. Joan watched with curiosity as she did this, and Miss Lake smiled at her as she returned to her seat. "How far along are you?" She asked congenially.

Joan froze, and simply stared at the counsellor for a few moments, trying to think of how best to respond. She had not experienced feeling ill due to the scent of anything yet, and it had taken her by surprise. Miss Lake was incredibly perceptive, trained to locate people's concerns and their fears, which explained how easily she realised Joan's secret.

"Ten weeks." She replied pleasantly, waiting to see what she would be asked next. Miss Lake simply looked at her kindly and nodded her head.

"The sickness will pass, I assure you." She smiled brightly at Joan, before clasping her hands in her lap and continuing to discuss Sandra Devereaux, which Joan was incredibly grateful for.

"As I was saying" Miss Lake began, leaning back in her chair. "was did discuss the occasional police case, but not the technicalities or details, you understand. Rather, it was if something about the case reminded her of the death of the man in the bar." The counsellor paused, observing Joan as she nodded. "My last appointment with Sandra was, oh, around six months ago, I believe. She seemed to be in a much better place than she had been when we first met. It was wonderful to see, she is a very kind and conscientious woman." Joan agreed, and began to ask a few questions.

"Was there anything, or anyone, Mrs Devereaux mentioned to you in terms of threats? Or her fears of someone acting violently towards her?" Joan asked. Miss Lake shook her head and replied immediately.

"No, there was nothing. She did mention the brother of the man who died, something Masterton, Masters? Masters, yes. Apparently at the inquest, the brother yelled at her, accusing her of murder. That troubled her deeply, and was something we discussed at length." Joan nodded, and continued to press the issue.

"Yes, we are looking into the brother. We believe he may be involved, although my colleague has his doubts." Joan began, leaning in to the side of the couch. The cool and comforting seats accepted her kindly, and Joan realised just how tired she was. "What was it about the brother's accusation which troubled her, specifically, I mean?" Joan asked tentatively. The counsellor smiled.

"There are some people, Miss Watson, who are involved in tragedies. In things which are sudden, unexpected and frightening. Sandra was involved in such an event, and this affected her deeply. She felt an overwhelming sense of guilt at her actions, and constantly questioned whether she had made the right decision, whether she had a choice or not. Sandra is an incredibly empathetic and considerate person, Miss Watson, and events such as these affect people of such a disposition greatly, more than many can imagine. And that is mainly what we discussed. I helped her to find a way to cope with her trauma, to accept events, and to realise that she did nothing wrong."

Joan nodded, and offered her a small smile. "You must have been a great comfort to her."

"I hope so, Miss Watson. I do. Women as brave and as selfless as Mrs Devereaux are often those who need the most comfort and protection. More than most, I believe." She smiled, and Joan nodded. "Is there anything else I can help you with? I am fully prepared to assist you and the police in any way I can. I have appointments all morning, but I can rearrange them if necessary." Joan smiled kindly at her, and thanked her sincerely. Miss Lake had a way of making her feel instantly at ease and calm, as her own counsellor did. She completely understood why Mrs Devereaux chose to talk to Miss Lake, and was very glad that she did so. From her own experiences, Joan was aware of the strength and confidence which often followed a meeting with a good counsellor.

"That won't be necessary, Miss Lake, but thank you." Joan rose slowly, adjusted her jacket and picked up her bag from the sofa. Miss Lake approached her slowly, handing her a card.

"This is my business card, Miss Watson, please call me should you or your associates have any questions, any at all." Joan accepted the card and thanked her, assuring her that she would. "I'm sorry I could not be more helpful."

"You have helped a great deal, Miss Lake, truly. You've helped me to gain an understanding of the type of person Mrs Devereaux is, and your objective opinion in such matters is essential and invaluable. So thank you." Miss Lake smiled modestly, and walked Joan towards the door.

Joan left the building and drove straight to the precinct, where she found Sherlock, Gregson and Bell in deep conversation. The who precinct was buzzing with information and enthusiasm, and Joan could tell immediately that something had happened whilst she had been interviewing the counsellor. Upon seeing her, Sherlock walked briskly towards her, and was followed closely by Gregson and Bell.

"Watson, the brother has been located. He was in hiding at the home of a friend from high school, who had him arrested in the early hours of the morning after he found him attempting to steal his late mother's jewellery." Sherlock paused for a moment, standing a few feet from Joan and surveying her curiously. It was clear that she was tired, but her eyes shone with a brightness and energy that reassured him greatly. "He was taken to another precinct, booked, and is being transported here for questioning as we speak." Sherlock continued to watch Joan, waiting for her to respond. She glanced from Sherlock to the police officers before recounting her meeting with the counsellor.

"She was great, she and Mrs Devereaux clearly had a good rapport. She says that the topic they discussed the most was the Masters case, specifically the guilt of Mrs Devereaux over the incident." Joan paused, the word guilt floating around in her mind. "She also confirmed our understanding of Mrs Devereaux's character. She is strong, kind, compassionate, empathetic. Not the kind of person who makes many enemies. So, yeah, I think the brother is looking to be a more viable option." Sherlock nodded, and the team moved into a nearby interview room to prepare for the arrival of Henry Masters. Gregson and Bell sat at the desk whilst Sherlock and Joan remained standing behind them, Sherlock stood tall and confident whilst Joan remained by the wall, leaning against it slightly. It was in moments like this, when no immediate action or speech was needed, that her tiredness hit her. She had a feeling that they were close to uncovering the truth, and her meeting with Miss Lake had given her confidence and hope, both personally and professionally. A few minutes later, the handcuffed prisoner was brought into the room, and stared at Sherlock, Joan and the police defiantly, before being pushed into his seat and placing his cuffed hands of the table. He was a broad man of average height, with short dark hair and a contemptuous expression. He glared at Gregson for a considerable amount of time, before turning to Bell and Sherlock, then calling Joan 'darlin'' several times.

"Mr Masters, do you know why you're here?" Gregson asked, folding his arms.

"Yeah, yeah they told me. That woman who killed my brother, the one whose kids got taken a few weeks back. She's been taken too, right?" He asked, his face brimming with happiness. Joan stared at him in annoyance, crossing her own arms as he continued. "What, you think I had something to do with it?"

"Yes, we do." Sherlock interjected, stepping forward and removing his hands from behind his back. "You threatened Mrs Devereaux in open court, accused her of murdering your brother, and-" 

"She did murder my brother." Masters spat, banging his fist upon the table.

"No, Mr Masters, she did not. She prevented him from murdering other innocent people." Sherlock spoke firmly, not breaking the man's stare. "Now, as you were attempting to steal jewellery from a close friend, you must be desperate. I'd be pretty desperate too, if I played a role in the kidnapping of two young children and their mother."

Masters looked at Sherlock disdainfully, tutting and shaking his head, as he adjusted himself in his seat. "You're wrong." He stated simply, glaring at Sherlock.

This line of questioning continued for about an hour minutes before Joan, growing frustrated and seeing that it was leading nowhere, began to consider adopting a different approach. She had been considering the strength of the argument that the brother was avenging the death of his loved one, but could not overcome the fact that his personality type and previous crimes were not consistent with the individual they were looking for. Despite the fact that the brother's personality, habits and actions did not reflect those of the person they believed to be responsible for the kidnappings, they were drawn to him. She considered this for a moment, thinking of the close relationship between the two brothers as they grew up together. She understood Henry's love of his brother, and his anger at his death was strong and all-consuming, but as she stared at the dishevelled, lost and confused man sitting in front of her, she struggled to connect him to the meticulously planned kidnappings. She had the overwhelming feeling that this was only part of the story, a few pieces of the puzzle. Her mind was racing, and as she thought this over, and as she considered the plausibility and strength of the motive for the crime, she arrived at another possible avenue of investigation.

"Mr Masters, tell me about your brother." She stated kindly, drawing the man's attention towards her. "We know he was adopted, did you know anything about his birth parents?"

"No, Miss, I don't. It was a closed adoption and he refused to talk about it, said his only parents were the ones who looked after us when we were kids." He turned away from Joan as soon as he spoke, leaning back in his seat. She gently probed him further, asking about his brother's relationships, romantic and otherwise, and those who were close to him. As she had suspected, Henry's late brother had no known romantic attachments, zero close friends, and few acquaintances. She nodded slowly, thanked him, and ran over the facts in her head. Joan took a step towards Gregson, bent down and whispered in his ear.

"Captain, I think this is something we should look into. We have been considering the fact that these kidnappings are personal, possibly related to an individual avenging the death of Mr Masters. His brother is an unlikely suspect, I very much doubt he has anything to do with this. But there are other people who might be interested in retribution. The people with a motive for avenging the death of Mr Masters could include his birth parents. If we could track them down, it would be of great help."

"The adoption was closed, Miss Watson, I don't see how they could find him." Gregson replied in a low tone.

"If they wanted to find a way to locate their child, they would. No obstacle would get in their way, Captain." He nodded slowly, rising from his desk and giving some instructions to an officer who was standing outside. When he returned, Joan turned towards Sherlock, who leaned down as she spoke quietly. She explained what she had just said to Gregson, and told him that finding the parents of Mr Masters was essential. "The police are on to it, but the girls and their mother are running out of time." She began, her mind racing. "If it was someone who was seeking vengeance for their son's murder, the chances are that Mrs Devereaux would have been being followed, perhaps even approached, by someone fitting the description of the mother."

"We know nothing about the mother, Watson." Sherlock stated, his face etched with confusion.

"We know that she must be in her early forties at the earliest, which narrows down the suspect pool considerably. And despite the fact that the adoption was a closed one, the mother could have recognised her son on the news, the case was publicised extensively." She reflected for a moment before continuing to talk. "I'm gonna go back and see Miss Lake, and ask her whether Mrs Devereaux talked of or knew any women of that description, whether she was approached by a woman she didn't know, or mentioned any other odd experiences which could be relevant." Sherlock nodded, watching her curiously as she left. She appeared to be more awake and more confidence than she had been a few hours before, which relieved him. He judged that her deductions were astute and well thought out, highly commendable and worthy of further investigation. She was progressing well, which filled him with confidence. Not that he ever doubted her, of course. He always had complete faith in the actions and abilities of Joan Watson.

Joan hailed a taxi from outside the precinct and gave the driver the address, before leaning back in the welcoming seats, the cool material soothing her. She had a good feeling about this, and was certain they were on the right track. In her last meeting with the counsellor, Joan had asked rather specific questions, and none related to acquaintances of Mrs Devereaux. She chastised herself for this, failing to understand how she could not have considered asking broader questions. Joan reached into her bag and pulled out her phone and calling Miss Lake, who answered promptly. She confirmed that her next appointment was not for another thirty minutes, so she would gladly meet Miss Watson in her office immediately. Joan arrived at the building a few minutes later and was met once more in the foyer by Miss Lake, who greeted her pleasantly. "Miss Watson, it is lovely to see you again. I'm glad you called, I was just reviewing my notes on the sessions I had with Sandra, so our discussions are fresher in my mind. Please, come through." They walked up to her office together, and Miss Lake moved towards her desk, leaning against it as she turned to listen to Joan, who was walking towards the sofa, leaning against it casually. They spoke for several minutes, with Miss Lake listening keenly to Joan's theory, and nodding politely at intervals.

"Interesting, yes. I do not recall Sandra mentioning anything like that, but I have been reviewing some of her notes, and there are more on file, I will consult them." She smiled, pushing herself away from the desk and crossing the room briskly, making her way towards the filing cabinet near the book cases. Joan thanked her, and began to walk absent-mindedly around the office itself, which was set in an alcove-like space at the back of the large room, with a large arched doorway. There was a large window to the left of the room, which allowed the daylight to floor into the room, illuminating the beautiful room, and highlighting the dark wooden desk. Joan had not been this close to Miss Lake's desk before, and ran her fingers across the shining wood, admiring how neat and organised everything was. The room was beautiful, wonderfully lit and decorated with expensive and antique ornaments. As she gazed admiringly around the space, Joan could hear the sound of the filing cabinet drawers being opened and closed, and the rustling of papers. She looked over to Miss Lake for a moment, who was bending over the filing cabinet and selecting certain files for examination, before returning her attention to the large, beautiful desk. One thing that Joan observed as she examined the room was the presence of silver items, from pens and a small mirror to an antique tea set in the corner of the room, which complimented the office wonderfully. As she looked back towards the desk, Joan saw a medium-sized silver picture frame of the right, and picked it up. It was of Miss Lake and a young woman, presumably her daughter, as she had the same thick, dark hair and delicate features. Joan looked at the image intently, reflecting for a moment. She wondered if, perhaps twenty years from now, she would have a similar picture on her own desk. She was drawn from her thoughts by Miss Lake, who called to her from the other side of the office.

"I've found the files, Miss Watson. In our sessions she mentioned no such women and encounters of that description, I'm afraid." She was holding an open file near to her chest, and scanning it curiously. "I think the strangest encounter involving a woman that she mentioned was with a person from her church group who helped her to design for a cat toy for one of her daughters." She laughed brightly, flicking through the papers once more, before turning back towards the cabinet and replacing the file. Joan was still staring at the picture, and noticed the deep brown eyes of both subjects. There was something about those eyes, something that seemed familiar. A wave of realisation struck Joan immediately, and she stared at the photo for a few moments, unable to move, completely transfixed.

"The cat design?" Joan repeated, drawing Miss Lake's attention from across the room. Miss Lake stared at her curiously for a moment, her hands clasped in front of her, watching Joan with interest. Joan paused, staring at her hard before responding. "Your last meeting with Mrs Devereaux was almost seven months ago, I checked. And I've been over her phone log and email history, she has not contacted you since." She spoke calmly, placing the photograph slowly down upon the desk. "So how could you possibly know about a toy she made a couple of weeks ago for her daughters?" Joan could not believe that she could have missed this. The personal link, the intimate knowledge needed of the routine and lifestyle of Mrs Devereaux and her daughters. It had to be someone intelligent, someone with incredible knowledge of her family, things which would not be discussed with everyone, and certainly not by the private and reserved Mrs Devereaux. Joan turned slowly to face the counsellor, who had not moved from her position at the other side of the room. Miss Lake smiled at her, turning slowly towards the filing cabinet, placing her hand inside, and then closing it firmly shut. When she turned around, she was pointing a gun at Joan's head, and was moving slowly towards her.

"Because, Miss Watson, her young daughter was holding the wretched thing when I pulled her from the car. It has barely left her side since."


	8. Chapter 8

After Joan had left, Sherlock, Gregson and Bell continued to question Henry Masters for a further ten minutes or so, before having him taken back to the other station. During the time they had been questioning him, each of the men had become more and more convinced that Joan was right, and that Henry Masters was not the person who orchestrated the kidnappings. Sherlock leaned against the wall as Gregson and Bell slowly rose from their seats, collecting their papers and files, and turning to face Sherlock.

"I gotta say, Sherlock, I think Joan is right." Gregson began, clutching his files close to his chest with one hand and placing his other deep in his trouser pocket. "I think we are looking at some other person connected to the late Masters, but not the adopted brother. He clearly had no other friends or family, so the birth parents do seem to be the most obvious and immediate choice." As soon as Gregson had finished speaking, there was a knock at the door, and a uniformed officer came in with a sheet of paper.

"Captain Gregson, sir" he began, stepping towards the men. "Just got this in. I had to call the public records office, as well as our legal people, but I got the information you requested after Miss Watson left." Gregson nodded. Shortly after Joan's departure, he had called an officer into the room and told him to identify the birth parents of the late Jacob Masters, as well as any other living relatives, and report back to him immediately. Gregson turned towards the officer, and nodded for him to continue, as Sherlock walked slowly towards them from his position by the wall. "Jacob Andrew Masters was born to a Miss Emily Morgan, aged twenty-two at the time. No details of the father were recorded on the birth certificate, so I drew a dead end there." Gregson nodded slowly, watching the officer with interest.

"Good, right, so we got a name. And where is she now?" He asked, placing the file on the desk as he crossed his arms.

"Well, Miss Morgan got married three years later, to a Mr Edward Lake, and then she-"

"Wait, stop," ordered Sherlock, stepping forward and holding his hand up to the officer, as if the fear of what he had just realised could be reversed if the words of the officer were retracted. "Her name is Emily Lake? You are sure?" Sherlock's voice was slightly lower than usual, and he was showing clearer signs of physical and emotional agitation. Gregson and Bell made the link shortly after Sherlock, and stared at each other in disbelief, before Bell reached for his phone and Gregson rushed out of the room, yelling instructions at several officers.

"Yes, sir." The officer replied, confused. He passed Sherlock the piece of paper he was holding. "This is her driving license photograph and all information I was able to find so far. She's a registered psychologist, pretty well known in certain circles, and she has a practice on the Upper West Side." Sherlock sighed in exasperation, feeling fear rise in him until it became physically painful, something which was so tangible he felt he could hold it in his hands. He reached into his pocket and picked up his phone, before beginning to dial with urgency. Bell was calling a colleague of his in the precinct nearer to the practice, appraising him of the situation, whilst Sherlock called Joan. He pressed the phone to his ear and began breathing deeply. He felt his agitation and fear rise with each ring, and was battling the desire to throw the phone at the wall in frustration. Joan's phone rang a few times before going to voice-mail, causing Sherlock to hang up immediately and begin to redial, before rushing from the room and approaching Captain Gregson.

"Joan isn't answering her phone, we need to go there, now." He ordered, staring at the Captain with more determination and conviction than Gregson had seen in the eyes of any man, certainly ones addressing himself. Gregson nodded, called Detective Bell from his phone conversation, and led the men out of the building and towards his car. As he walked through the precinct, Sherlock felt as though his entire body was on fire, and that he was floating through the police station. His limbs felt heavy and useless, and his head was pounding with fear and emotions which he could not even begin to describe. During his walk to the car, he had been constantly redialling Joan's phone number, his desperation increasing with every unanswered ring. He reached Gregson's car, and climbed in the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him as he rang Joan for the fourth time in less than two minutes. Beneath the fear and the pain and the emotion, he had the overwhelming feeling that something was desperately wrong.

Joan's phone began to ring, and the gently buzzing of her phone in her pocket drew Emily Lake's eyes to Joan's own, as she raised the gun and began walking towards her.

"I wouldn't, Miss Watson, it will be quite unproductive, I assure you." She spoke gently, her wide eyes never blinking, nor breaking contact with Joan.

"If I don't answer they will know something is wrong, Ms Lake. I told them where I was going, they know I am here. Let me answer it and tell them everything is fine." Joan spoke calmly and confidently, raising her arms slightly in a defensive position. Emily Lake smiled slightly, before shaking her head and exhaling deeply.

"No, Miss Watson. If they knew you were with me, and that you arrived only a few minutes ago, they would have no reason to call you other than to tell you of what they have discovered about my... role in recent events." She watched Joan with interest, stepping closer towards her before pausing, as they stood just a few feet apart. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

The question was rhetorical, and Joan knew it. She also knew that what Ms Lake had said was completely true, and she had anticipated it. Joan's face remained impassive, and her demeanour appeared to be calm and controlled. She felt anything but calm, but she knew how important it was not to display fear, certainly towards someone holding a gun. If she remained calm, and if she kept Ms Lake calm, this situation could be dealt with quickly and effectively, with no one being hurt, including herself, the Devereaux family and even Ms Lake. As these thoughts passed through her mind, Ms Lake maintained her controlled and confident stare, and smiled, before beginning to speak.

"Believe it or not, this is the first time I have been of any interest to law enforcement. I don't expect you to understand, Miss Watson. I didn't understand myself at first, my own thoughts shocked me deeply. I had never harboured any feelings of dislike or ill-will to anyone. Not even my parents when they put me in the position when I had no choice but to give up my child." She paused for a moment, looking at Joan curiously. "Something which, I'm sure, your current condition may make you understand more than you would have a few weeks ago." Ms Lake's eyes left Joan's own for a moment, and fell upon her abdomen, before rising once more to her face. "It's amazing, isn't it. That feeling. That connection, that draw to another being. It is indescribable." Ms Lake's eyes changed, and she displayed an absent, almost meditative expression, for just a few moments before turning back to Joan. "You understand, I'm sure."

Joan remained silent for a few moments, choosing her words carefully. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, the thoughts and words leaping to her mind before Ms Lake had finished speaking, but she knew how important it was for her to keep Ms Lake calm, and give her no reason to act violently. Throughout this period, her phone had continued to buzz relentlessly in her pocket, sending small vibrations coursing through her body, which did nothing to alleviate her nerves. More than anything, it reminded her that Sherlock and the police were probably already on their way, and their safety depended on the mental stability of the woman who was standing a few feet away from her, and aiming a gun directly between her eyes.

"I think I do. I think I understand what it is like to care about someone so much it causes you physical pain, and the concept of them being injured or taken from you is more unbearable than can be put into words, or even into thoughts. It is causes the most overwhelming sense of powerlessness and fear that can be imagined." Ms Lake was watching her with interest, but her body language was not betraying her in any way. "But what I do not understand is the need to inflict pain and suffering on innocent children. To tear them out of their home, away from their family, and then punish their parents in the cruellest and most reprehensible way imaginable."

"You're forgetting, Miss Watson, I returned the mother to her children. That's more than she did for me." Ms Lake replied after a few moments, responding in a low and dangerous tone, which startled Joan slightly. Joan waited for a few moments before responding, remaining calm and considering the best way to approach the subject.

"What you have been through is beyond comprehension. You had a baby, a child you clearly cherished, and he was taken from you. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to give up a child of your own volition, but to have that decision made for you must be more than most people could bear. And to then have that child taken from you again, taken in a way which was sudden and traumatic, must have caused you more pain than can be expressed. And I am so, so sorry." She paused for a moment, maintaining eye contact with Ms Lake, whose breathing had increased slightly. "But your son was not murdered, Ms Lake. He was killed, and it was awful, but it was not murder. Your son was shot in self-defence. He had already started a fight in a bar, shot an officer, and attempted to kill Sandra Devereaux. She acted in self defence, of herself and of every other person in that bar." Joan paused, and watched Ms Lake with a wary yet sympathetic expression. She was appalled by her actions, which she believed to be unjustifiable. But despite this, she sympathised with her pain.

Ms Lake had remained silent, but pursed her lips together before beginning to speak. "My son made some mistakes, yes. But he did not deserve to die like that."

"No one does, Ms Lake." Joan returned, speaking with compassion and conviction. "The police officer he shot, the man he assaulted, and the woman whose life he threatened also did not deserve what happened to them. But Sandra Devereaux was not acting out of cruelty or malice, but of necessity. I understand that does not make it any easier, and doesn't even come close to consoling you. But she did not murder your son, Ms Lake. She did not murder your son."

Ms Lake stared at Joan for a few moments, dropping her glance to the floor, before staring back up to face Joan. Ms Lake slowly lowered the gun, it's barrel travelling down Joan's neck and chest, before reaching her abdomen, where it remained. Ms Lake tilted her head slightly and watched Joan's face with great interest. She observed how Joan's eyes widened slightly, her chest rose and fell noticeably, and the hands which she held in mid-air shook slightly. But Joan's eyes never left Ms Lake's, whose glare had turned darker and more sinister. "The word 'murder' is not what I am interested in. The term itself is of relatively little interest to me. This is not a matter of semantics, Miss Watson, but of something much deeper and less quantifiable." She took a few steps closer until the barrel of the gun was actually touching Joan's abdomen, causing her to visibly tense. "Tell me, Miss Watson, if I pulled the trigger now, Miss Watson, what term would you use? Would it matter? Or would you be so overwhelmed with grief and devastation that no words, or thoughts, or attempts at justification could possibly satisfy you. If I pulled this trigger, Miss Watson, believe me, you would be acting exactly as I am at this moment." Joan exhaled deeply, her eyes not leaving Ms Lake's face, not daring to look down at the gun. Before she could respond, the door at the end of the office burst open, and Joan heard the word 'Police' used upon the entrance of Gregson, Bell and Sherlock. Ms Lake acted swiftly, grabbing Joan forcibly by the arm and pulling her towards her, before raising the gun to her head and resting the barrel against her temple. For just a moment, Joan felt a wave of relief as the barrel was removed from her abdomen. Less than a second later, she was struck by the oddness of that feeling, considering the fact that her baby would certainly not survive if she were shot in the head. Joan was drawn from her thoughts by Ms Lake placing her left arm across her chest, and pulling her backwards with force.

All of this happened in less than three seconds, and during this time Joan had caught sight of the men who had just entered the room, and attempted to maintain a calm and confident disposition. The men were stood about ten feet away from Joan and Ms Lake, who were stood by the desk. Gregson was stood in front of the sofa and to the left, and had his gun raised. Bell adopted the same position on the right, and Sherlock was standing directly in the middle, staring at Joan. Their eyes met for a few moments, and Joan felt as though she had stopped breathing. The concern and fear in his eyes overwhelmed her, and their eyes met and maintained a mutual stare of understanding. In the moments that they stared into each other's eyes, Joan felt as though they shared a deeper connection and understanding than they had ever before. The look he was giving her, the focus in his bright, wide eyes, reminded her of how he looked at her after having beaten her attacker mercilessly a couple of months before. A few seconds later, the concern in his eyes was replaced with the look of determination and complete focus which she recognised in him immediately, and that she was certain Gregson and Bell would notice too. However, unlike Gregson and Bell, Joan saw the look concealed beneath, in the fear and apprehension which flushed across his features, and was shared between them in their mutual gaze. Joan was brought from her thoughts by the sound of Sherlock's voice, who spoke calmly and confidently as he gazed upon the scene of a dangerous, gun-wielding kidnapper holding a gun to Joan's head.

"Ms Lake, it is Ms Lake, is it not?" Sherlock asked kindly, raising his arms slightly in a defensive position. Ms Lake turned her gaze directly upon him, and confirmed her identity, before asking him who he was.

"I am a consultant with the police, Ms Lake. My name is Sherlock Holmes."

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes." She repeated the name slowly, in a low tone, as she tightened her grip on Joan. Joan inhaled sharply as she did so, drawing the attention of Sherlock, who shifted slightly in his position. Ms Lake noticed this, and considered it with interest.

"I take it you are acquainted with Miss Watson." She smiled, running the gun up and down Joan's temple. Joan remained perfectly calm, her eyes focusing on Sherlock.

"Yes, Miss Watson and I work together. She and I have the same profession, which she excels in." He paused, watching as Ms Lake nodded in agreement, before meeting his gaze. She watched him dangerously, and the look in her eyes made him truly fearful for Joan's safety. "Ms Lake, it's over. We know what happened, we know what role you played, and we understand your motivations. Holding Miss Watson captive is not helping you, and it will not change what happened to your son. Your actions were made out of fear and anguish, and a jury will sympathise with you, they will. The Devereaux family can be safely recovered, as can Miss Watson. You're a clever woman, Ms Lake, and have been through a terrible ordeal. Do not allow Miss Watson to become a victim of your grief."

Ms Lake snorted, before breathing in deeply and staring at Sherlock with a look somewhere between arrogance and contempt. "Miss Watson and I were discussing my ordeal, as you described it, just moments before you entered the room." She smiled for a moment, and looked from Sherlock to the police officers, and then back to Sherlock. "In fact, we were having a rather enlightening conversation of our own, weren't we?" She turned her head to face Joan, and tilted her head back slightly until they were facing one another. Joan inhaled deeply, before controlling her breathing and calming herself. Joan was worried about what Ms Lake would say next, and just how much of their previous conversations she would reveal. Her fear was not abated, even when Ms Lake changed the subject. "I do not consider myself to be a 'victim of grief', Mr Holmes. The only person who fits that category, in her own mind at least, was Sandra Devereaux. Can you imagine what it was like, for me to listen to her talking for hours about how she killed my son, and how it made her feel? I sat in that seat just behind where you are standing and listened to her talk, and cry, and regret her actions, and it took absolutely everything I had to stop myself leaping across the room and-" she broke off, breathing in deeply and regaining her composure, "but I realised that pointless violence would not help me or absolve her. So I devised something more creative, and more appropriate. And nothing that happens today will change the fact that I will ensure that the woman who killed my son will understand how it feels to go through something like that." She paused, and was staring at Sherlock, who was listening to her intently. "Losing a child, Mr Holmes, is something which I cannot even begin to describe. Especially a child you have never had the chance to meet properly, to talk to, to explain to."

As she spoke, Ms Lake moved the gun from Joan's head and drew it down her body once more, starting with her neck, then her chest, before finally arriving at her stomach, and stopping. Sherlock watched this movement with great concern and apprehension, but soon his eyes were drawn away from the action itself, and focused completely on Joan's reaction to it. As the gun was drawn down her body, Joan appeared to remain calm and composed, her breathing remaining even. But as the gun reached her abdomen and froze, she visibly tensed, and her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. As he raised his eyes to meet her own, he saw that her eyes had become wide and glassy, and she was forcing herself not to cry. As he was processing his thoughts, Ms Lake began to speak once more. "Losing a child in any way in unbearable. Losing them in an act of unnecessary and unjustifiable violence is beyond description." As she finished this declaration, Joan once more breathed in deeply as the gun was drawn across her abdomen. She closed her eyes for a moment in a desperate attempt to compose herself, and when she opened them she found Sherlock staring at her with a look she did not recognise immediately. The look was one of fear, anxiety, confusion and complete and utter bewilderment. But more than that, it was a look of knowledge. As she and Sherlock's eyes met, and their gaze was maintained for what felt like an eternity, she realised that what had happened, and how she had reacted, had led Sherlock to make another brilliant and correct deduction, the realisation of something which the other people in the room were completely oblivious to. Sherlock knew. He analysed her actions, her reactions, and correctly understood their significance. Sherlock knew that Joan was pregnant.

Gregson and Bell would have put her reaction, if they even noticed it, down to the feat associated with and expected from having a gun passed across your body. But Sherlock knew Joan, he knew her reactions, and he knew her behaviour. Her body language changed remarkably once the gun was pointed at her abdomen, and the fact that this occurred at the exact time in which Emily Lake was talking about the pain of losing a child. This was clearly linked to the previous conversation she mentioned having with Watson, and was meant to torment her, possibly to illicit a reaction which would entice the police to act in accordance to Ms Lake's wishes. Sherlock continued to stare at Joan for several moments, and as their eyes held their mutual gaze, he became aware of a change in her expression. The fear and false confidence in her eyes was replaced with something different, something new. It was guilt, terror and incredible sadness. The look itself was unlike anything Sherlock had seen before, and he was certain that it was as a direct response to what he had just realised, and to what she knew he had realised. This was her apology, her plea. And it broke his heart.

Sherlock's mouth felt dry, and his mind was racing. In the space of just a few seconds, he considered all the evidence of the past few weeks. He had noticed that Joan seemed concerned, worried, tired, and had been acting in a way inconsistent with her usual actions. He had assumed that this was due to the complex and emotional nature of the case, one which involved missing and frightened children. But when he saw her face that morning in the brownstone he knew that it was something else, something deeper, and something more personal than he had realised. He swallowed, breathed in slowly, and began to speak. "Ms Lake, I cannot begin to imagine such pain, such loss, and I hope I never do. I sincerely wish that it was something which we as a society, as a collective, were free from. That no one ever had to experience what you yourself have experienced. But this is not the way to achieve that. Harming someone else, threatening someone else's life, will not end your own suffering, Ms Lake. In fact, it has the opposite effect. It causes a chain of inevitable events which prolongs suffering. Not only that, but it distracts from the grief. Your pain and suffering are drawn away from your love of your son and placed directly upon your hatred of the person you hold guilty for his death. I know that feeling, Ms Lake. Believe me, I do. I know what it feels like to want to hurt that person, to make them feel your pain. But it is not right, not satisfactory, and it does not change anything, which I hope you realise. I hope you also realise that Miss Watson is not that person." He looked from Ms Lake to Joan, whose eyes expressed the same look of fear and guilt as they had done a few moments ago. She watched Sherlock with concern as he spoke, terrified of what the knowledge of her deception was doing to him. She was drawn from her thoughts by Sherlock's soft, kind voice filling the room as he addressed Ms Lake. "Miss Watson is innocent, Ms Lake. Of everything." He stared at Joan sincerely and kindly as he said this, and she realised immediately the deeper meaning of his words. He was telling her that it was alright, and that he forgave her. Or, at least, that he was prepared to. "She is one of the few people in this world whose actions can be described as completely selfless, and worthy of the highest praise and consideration which we are capable of giving. She does not deserve this, Ms Lake." He spoke calmly but firmly, staring at Joan's captor with resolution fixed in his eyes. "Do not let your grief claim the life of an innocent person, Ms Lake. Not of the Devereaux children, or their mother, and certainly not of Miss Watson."

Ms Lake considered his words for a few moments, before removing the gun from Joan's abdomen, and moving it slowly up her body. Joan remained perfectly still, her eyes now adopting a more sanguine and reflective expression. Sherlock looked at Joan with concern, before returning his attention to Ms Lake, whose demeanour was becoming less relaxed and controlled, and notably more agitated. She smiled at Sherlock for a moment, before drawing the gun slowly up Joan's arm and towards her head, before reversing the movement and trailing the gun down her body and towards her abdomen. Before the gun got passed her waist, a flash of emotion passed across Joan's eyes, and she acted immediately. She turned on the spot and grabbed Ms Lake's right forearm, before turning it upwards so that the gun was aimed at the ceiling. She then pushed Ms Lake forcefully against the window, causing the gun to fall to the ground as Gregson and Bell ran up behind her, and restrained Ms Lake, whose previously calm demeanour changed suddenly due to the recent events which she did not foresee. As Gregson and Bell restrained her and dragged her from the room, Sherlock rushed towards Joan, who was standing with her back to the window, her features awash with fear and confusion. Sherlock stopped once he was a few steps in front of her, and waited until she looked up towards him. Her eyes were weary and tearful, and she exhaled sharply as she tried to say his name. Joan's frightened demeanour, terrified face and distraught voice caused Sherlock to feel an indescribable degree of internal agony. Before she had time to continue trying to talk to him, which he knew she was finding difficult, due to her own trauma, fear and guilt, Sherlock stepped closer until they were just inches apart, and wrapped his arms around her. He had never acted in such a way before, and the combination of this factor and Joan's own trauma and fear caused her to tense slightly as he did so. But as he moved his arms comfortingly across her back, and drew her head close to his own face with his left hand, he felt her body relax under his arms, and she slowly and cautiously returned the hug. They stood quite still for several minutes, until Sherlock became aware that she was shaking slightly, due to the sobbing which she was attempting to suppress. He knew that she would not wish him to comment upon it, so he simply held her slightly tighter, ran his hand across the back of her head, and whispered gently in her ear. "It's alright, Watson. It's alright. Everything is alright."


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock and Joan stood in each other's arms for several minutes, holding each other tightly as Sherlock whispered words of kindness and reassurance to Joan. As he held her tightly, she felt comforted and almost at ease, but she was also struck by fear. Although he had not mentioned the subject, she was sure that he knew of her pregnancy. She saw his face as Ms Lake was holding her, running the gun along her body and talking about losing a child. She saw how Sherlock's eyes shined and rushed across her body, before focusing on her abdomen, and glistening with knowledge and realisation. She would never forget how frightened and confused his expression was at that moment, although he had recovered himself very quickly, and saved her life. Sherlock sensed Joan's discomfort, and held one hand on her lower back whilst rubbing the top of her back soothingly with the other. The events of the past few minutes were swimming in his mind, and he was desperately trying to make sense of them, to understand them, and to work out the best way to talk to Joan. Before either one of them could speak, they heard the familiar voice of Captain Gregson as he re-entered the room.

"We put her in the car and she's on the way to the precinct" he began as he walked into the room, watching Sherlock and Joan with interest. As soon as she heard his voice, Joan shifted slightly, and Sherlock removed his arms to allow her space. As she looked over to Captain Gregson, she appeared tired yet calm, and she was successfully trying to retain her composure. Sherlock watched her as she placed one arm on her hips and the other across her abdomen, before turning to face Captain Gregson completely. "Do you guys want a ride to the precinct?" He offered, looking at Joan kindly and with concern etched upon his face.

"Thank you, Captain, but I would like to take Miss Watson home. She has been through quite an ordeal today, and is in need of rest." Sherlock stated in a voice which was almost his own, though perhaps slightly lower and more cautious. He looked towards Joan as he finished his declaration, as if asking for her permission or approval, and she nodded slowly, before breathing in sharply.

"Would that be alright, Captain Gregson?" She asked him, her voice betraying her tiredness.

"Of course it would" Gregson began, his voice kind, gentle and full of concern, "I'll have one of the guys take you, whenever you're both ready, alright? I'm gonna head to the precinct now, but the car will be waiting for you outside. Any problems, any concerns, you call me, right?" he last part of this question was meant to be aimed at both of them, but he maintained a strong, paternal look upon Joan's almost impassive face. He knew she was exhausted, and emotionally drained from her latest experience. He was also fairly certain she was putting on a brave front, in order to reassure herself, the police and Sherlock. But mostly Sherlock. The Captain watched as Sherlock's gaze barely left Joan, and his eyes and expression seemed to be full of concern and anticipation. Gregson was relieved to see Sherlock looking at her this way, as he was certain it would mean that he would take care of her.

"Of course, Captain, yes. Thank you." Joan spoke, her voice quieter than before. Sherlock took a step towards her, turned to Gregson and thanked him. Gregson watched the scene for a few moments, before nodding and leaving the room, before reassuring them that the car downstairs was at their disposal. After he left, the room seemed eerily quiet. Neither Sherlock nor Joan had realised how completely silent it had been whilst they had been standing together for several minutes before the Captain entered the room. After he left, both of them became aware of the silence. The silence itself, Joan soon realised, made her feel afraid. There were no sounds of distractions, no questions or declarations, but the air was filled with something notably more powerful, and louder in a sense. It was filled with the sound of her own thoughts, her fears about what had just happened, and what was likely to happen next. She felt completely overwhelmed, and incredibly confused. She kept thinking the most recent events over and over in her head, and tried to figure out if Sherlock really did know. He would have mentioned it by now, surely? Or was he waiting for her to bring it up? She was too scared to look up at him, afraid that the moment she looked into his eyes her face would betray her, and she would collapse into tears and a string of sincere yet desperate apologies. On the outside, none of this was clear, and Joan appeared to be remarkably calm. Not like her usual self, of course, she was certainly seemed more tired and weary than she normally would, but not frightened or frantic. At least not to other people, including Gregson and the other officers. But looking down upon her, Sherlock knew she was afraid, and he vowed to do everything within his power to alleviate that fear. Joan Watson, he mused, did not deserve to feel afraid.

Sherlock gently placed one hand on the back of her left shoulder, which drew her from her thoughts and made her slowly turn to meet his gaze. He was looking down at her with a mixture of concern and kindness, and she was grateful that his expression did not seem to reveal any hints of anger. "Watson, would you allow me to take you home?" He asked quietly and gently, and with a great degree of consideration which deeply touched Joan. He did not sound angry at all, or even disappointed, but there was knowledge in his eyes and in his tone, which made her certain that he had figured out that she was pregnant. Despite this, he did not seem to be angry, with her, the situation, or the way in which he found out. He just sounded concerned about her, about how she was feeling, about what she was thinking. She wondered if he was able to direct the same emotions at his own thoughts. She certainly was. She was watching him with a notably alert yet apprehensive expression, afraid of the effect that the news would have on him. She did not want him to find out like this, and she inwardly criticised herself for what she believed to be her part in it. She should have told him sooner, not waited until he figured it out whilst she was being held at gunpoint. It must have been terrifying for him, to be point of being almost completely unbearable. She was amazed that he had maintained his composure, and been able to talk to Ms Lake in such a controlled, kind and empathetic manner. She felt guilty and deeply saddened that he had to find out this way, and could not even begin to imagine what he must be going through right now. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead of words, she found herself choking back a sob which she did not realise she was suppressing. She clasped one hand over her mouth and looked to the ground, breathed in deeply and clearer her throat. As soon as she had placed her hand to her mouth, Sherlock had moved forward and placed his hand back on her left shoulder and his other hand upon her cheek, before stepping closer and holding her towards him. Joan felt warmth and comfort at his touch, causing her to feel a mixture of gratitude and guilt. She did not think she deserved his kindness or his care, and was unsure of what to do next. Thankfully, Sherlock seemed to sense this, and helped her.

"It's alright, Watson, I assure you. The car is waiting downstairs, are you ready to leave? I'd imagine you've had enough of this office for one day." Sherlock spoke in an even tone, which was etched with kindness and sympathy. Joan nodded, before looking up at him again, willing herself to meet his gaze. She looked into his eyes, which were glistening and alight with concern and intelligence, and breathed in deeply before trying to speak.

"Yes. Yes, thank you." Her voice sounded almost like her own, but there was an unmistakable note of sadness and fear which had entered it. Sherlock had never seen her appear so frightened before, so fragile, and so completely overwhelmed. The sight of Joan Watson in such a state made him feel more powerless, saddened and disconcerted than he believe himself capable of feeling, and he was desperate to reassure her. He nodded to her, offered her a small reassuring smile, and then placed his hand on her lower back as he escorted her from the room. Neither of them said anything to each other on the journey through the corridor, down the elevator, across the foyer and into the car. Sherlock simply exchanged a few words with a police officer he recognised, who was driving them home, and then held open the car door for Joan, who eased herself inside. He closed the door slowly behind her and watched as she put on her seatbelt mechanically, clasped her hands and rested them in her lap, before staring forward. Sherlock moved around to the other side of the car and sat in the back with her, glancing over at her once, causing her to bow her head slightly, and putting on his own seatbelt before the officer started the engine and began to drive.

Sherlock and Joan did not speak to one another during the duration of the car journey, with each of them lost in their own thoughts, and respecting the needs of the other, who they knew to be doing the same. The police officer driving had tried to make polite conversation, and was asking a few considerate questions as he drove, which either Sherlock or Joan answered candidly and with kindness, before retreating back to their own thoughts. Sherlock was sitting quite still in the back, his arms resting against his sides, hands near his legs. He was sitting up fairly straight, although he appeared to be fairly relaxed. On the outside, at least. On the inside, his mind was racing. Like Joan, he was replaying the events of the past twenty minutes over and over in his head. When Ms Lake had rested the gun on Joan's abdomen, and was talking about losing a child, he noticed a marked shift in Joan's behaviour. Until then she had remained remarkably calm, and completely composed. When the gun was pointed at her head and traced down her body, she barely flinched, or revealed any signs of overt distress. But when the gun reached her abdomen she appeared frightened, terrified. Her whole body had tensed, and her breathing became laboured, but she quickly recovered herself. It was not just her actions which brought him to his conclusions, though. In fact, her physical actions were almost secondary to the true means of his realisation. It was her eyes. When she had tensed, and caught her breath, he looked towards her face to reassure her, comfort her with his glance. But instead, he found fear and guilt swimming in her eyes, and she was looking at him with a mixture of sorrow and fear. It was then that he realised the significance of her actions, her demeanour, and the words of Ms Lake. It was then that he realised she was pregnant. And from the look of fear and concern in her eyes, as well as his awareness of her current romantic situation, he corrected deduced that he was the father of Joan Watson's baby.

Sherlock considered their impending parenthood for several minutes, his heart beating faster and faster with the realisation that he had fathered a child, and out of all the times at which this could have happened, with various girlfriends, prostitutes, Irene, it occurred with the woman he trusted, respected and adored more than any other. Sherlock was battling feelings of confusion, fear and concern, but he separated himself from this for a moment to place himself quite firmly in the present moment. He thought back to the night he and Joan shared, and remembered that it was exactly ten weeks and six days ago. From Watson's reactions, which he had already thought over, and which had led him to the realisation of her condition, it was clear that she knew about her pregnancy. As a former doctor, Sherlock believed that she probably found out several weeks ago. He focused on this for a moment, imagining the fear and confusion which such a realisation must have caused her to feel. How conflicted and how afraid she must have been, how uncertain and how vulnerable. Thoughts regarding her reasons for not telling him entered his mind immediately, and he considered each one with analytical precision. Firstly, there was the possibility that she did not want to keep the baby. The fact that she was still pregnant seemed to dispel this, but he could not be certain. Perhaps she did not intend to keep the baby, but had not had the time or confidence to go through with it. But then again, the way in which she reacted to the gun being pressed to her abdomen demonstrated a great degree of maternal care and fear for the safety of her child. He found himself bouncing back from both possibilities, before considering a different option. It was possible that she had intended to keep the baby, but did not want to tell Sherlock. Perhaps she felt he would not be a suitable father, perhaps she believed that keeping their child's existence a secret would be the best solution. Maybe she was going to continue with the pregnancy and then arrange for the child to be adopted. Or perhaps she would keep the child herself? But this would involve telling him, he noted, which she had so far omitted to do. The third and final possibility was the one which he believed to be the most likely, the most accurate, and most consistent with the attitudes, selflessness and compassion of Joan Watson. He considered the possibility that she found out she was pregnant, took some time to consider her options and the possible issues associated with those choices, and had then been waiting for the right time to tell him. If she had found out she was pregnant a few weeks ago, that time would coincide with their introduction to their most recent case, which demanded their complete time, energy and focus. Perhaps she did not want to distract him from their work, perhaps she wanted to place their focus completely upon the recovery of the missing children. Perhaps she was afraid. Afraid of becoming a mother, afraid of his reaction to the news, worried about what he would do or say. Maybe she wanted to protect him, to shield him from something which she was concerned would cause him to experience fear or pain or uncertainty. Yes, he mused. That sounded like Watson.

At this moment, he was drawn back to the present situation by a sound to his left. Joan had just adjusted herself in her seat, clasped her hands tighter together and inhaled deeply. Her eyes were closed, and she turned towards the window, placing her clasped hands upon her abdomen and breathing in steadily. Sherlock observed her for a moment, realising instantly that she was distressed. He could not begin to imagine what was going through her mind, how afraid she must be, how uncertain and how vulnerable. Slowly, Sherlock reached his left hand over, placed in on top of her clasped hands, and squeezed gently. Joan turned her head slowly, looking down at their hands. A small and weary smile played across her face for a moment, and she stared down at his hand upon her own. She shifted her hands slightly, unclasping them. Sherlock was worried that he had unnerved her more, and the thought of distressing her concerned him deeply. He slowly moved his hand away, but was surprised to find that Joan clasped it in her own. He looked towards her, and their eyes met for a moment. Joan placed her hand under his, and they entwined their fingers, before slowly lowering their arms so their hands were resting on the seat between them. They remained like this for a few minutes, and as each second passed, Sherlock noticed that Joan appeared to be gaining confidence, appearing much more like her usual self. Although still tired, frightened and apprehensive, the traumatised look in her eyes had disappeared, and she leaned back slowly into the seat. They remained like this for several more minutes, until the car pulled up outside the brownstone. When the engine was turned off, Sherlock felt Joan's grip on his hand weaken notably. She was not letting his hand go so she could open the car door, but appeared to be overcome by fear. Her eyes travelled from the brownstone to the seat in front of her, and she inhaled deeply. She was afraid now, more than ever. In the office, in the car, it did not seem quite so real, and the fact that no words on the subject were spoken made her feel that she still had more time, to think of what to say, to apologise, to consider what would be best for Sherlock. But as they arrived outside the brownstone, she realised that her time was up. She knew that they would have to discuss the subject immediately, and she was deeply afraid.

Sherlock sensed her discomfort, and placed his other hand on top of her own, rubbing it soothingly. She breathed in slowly, and undid her seatbelt, before turning towards the door and stepping from the car. Sherlock watched her cautiously, before following her actions, and walking around the car to stand by her side. The police officer who had been driving them remained in the car, and exchanged a few word with Sherlock as Joan slowly made her way up the steps and towards the brownstone. A few seconds later she could hear the familiar sound of Sherlock's footsteps following behind her, and she paused as she reached the door, turning to face him. Sherlock walked slowly to her side, looked at her kindly, and then reached into his pockets for his keys before unlocking the door. He stood aside to allow Joan to pass in first, which she thanked him for, before stepping inside slowly. She looked around the brownstone for a moment. It appeared to be in the exact same condition it had been in earlier, but earlier felt like an eternity ago. It was hard to believe that she and Sherlock were standing in almost the same positions just six hours earlier. She was about to step into the living area when Sherlock approached her from behind and spoke gently to her.

"Why don't you make yourself comfortable in the front room, Watson, and I will make us some tea." He spoke kindly and gently, his tone devoid of negativity or criticism. Joan looked up at him and nodded slowly.

"Sure, thanks. I'll just... I'll be in here." She spoke quietly, but with increased confidence, before walking into the living area and sitting herself on the red couch. She placed her bag upon the ground and ran her hands through her hair before leaning back into the welcoming material behind her. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in slowly, and then opened them. She leaned forward, clasping her hands tightly together and resting them in her lap, whilst staring at the ground. She felt like a naughty school girl who had been sent to the headmaster's office, and was uncertain of what her punishment would be. This idea amused her slightly, and she sighed warmly, before leaning back slightly and unclasping her hands, running her hands across her thighs and towards her knees. She was anxious and agitated, and was struggling to collect her thoughts. She began by thinking about the baby, and the relief she felt that it was okay flooded her with happiness and an emotion which she could only describe as pure ecstasy. After this, she found her thoughts drifting to Sherlock. As she considered what to do, to say, and how she could possibly explain this to him, she could hear the boiling of the kettle, clinking of mugs, and slow movements of Sherlock in the kitchen. She cast her gaze towards the doorway for a moment, and saw him briefly walk from one side of the room to the other, before looking forward once more, staring at the bookcase. When she thought of the situation in more depth, she became even more certain that he knew of her pregnancy. She could not put into words an explanation for her certainty, but the look they shared in Ms Lake's office made her absolutely sure. Once more, Joan felt awash with guilt, at not having told him sooner, and due to the fact that he had to find out in such a frightening and unbearable way. She breathed in slowly, and wet her lips, before considering this further. Since that moment, Sherlock had appeared to be remarkably calm, and displayed no signs of agitation, fear or anger. She was sure that he was flooded with these emotions, but attempting to hide them from her and she had been trying to conceal her own from him. She found herself fixated on possible scenarios of her telling him, verbally confirming what he already knew to be true. He would probably be feeling hurt, confused, even angry all of which Joan understood and felt he was more than entitled to feel and to express. She had only seen him angry a handful of times, and although she did not fear him when he was angry, she did fear the anger itself, despite the fact that she felt she would deserve to be the recipient of the emotion.

Before Joan could consider anything further, she heard Sherlock's familiar footsteps coming towards her from the kitchen. She looked up to find him holding a cup of very hot fruit tea, which filled the room with an aromatic and soothing scent. He slowly approached Joan and offered her the mug, which she accepted gratefully, and wrapped her hands around the heat source, inhaling its comforting vapours. She stared into her mug for a few seconds, watching the liquid swirl around. As she was doing so, Sherlock moved back a few steps and sat near her on the couch, placing his hands in his lap. Joan was not sure of what to do next, everything seemed so surreal, so strange, and so very uncertain and unconfirmed. They both sat in silence for a few seconds, before Joan slowly adjusted her grip on the mug, which she had not yet drank from, and placed it on a small table to her right. She then turned herself around so that she was facing Sherlock, before clasping her hands together and placing them in her lap, and watching him with wide and curious eyes. Sherlock watched her for a few moments, and once he was confident that she was feeling comfortable and composed, he began to speak.

"Watson, I... I know you have been through a great ordeal today. Your experience is not something we should skip over or subordinate to anything else, regardless of its importance." He paused for a moment, at watched her closely, ensuring that his words were not frightening or distressing her. "But I feel that there is something that we need to discuss, something that I... noticed, from Ms Lake's words and from your reaction to her words and her actions. I hope you understand, Watson, I do not wish to intrude upon you, or place you in an uncomfortable position, but I am concerned, and I believe that it would help us both to discuss anything that is troubling you, or that you wish to discuss with me." He spoke incredibly gently and tentatively, his words were not angry or accusatory, and he remained perfectly calm and sincere throughout his speech. When he had finished, he looked towards Joan, who had been watching him with interest. She shifted slightly in her seat, before pushing herself from the couch and walking slowly towards the fire place. She remained by the fireplace for a few moments, before turning around slowly to face him once more. She appeared to be calm and composed, but Sherlock realised that she was feeling very much out of control, which was unusual for her, and undoubtedly caused her great discomfort and confusion. He rose slowly from the sofa and took a couple of steps towards her, before standing a few feet away from her and looking at her with kindness and compassion, which he meant with the utmost sincerity. She watched him as he rose, her eyes following his movements, before she stood up straight and faced him nervously.

"I'm pregnant" she stated, her voice in a lower and quieter tone than she had intended. It felt as though the time that passed after she had uttered those two words was infinite, and she felt her mouth dry and her heart beat increase markedly. Despite how long the time seemed, it was really only a couple of seconds before Sherlock responded.

Sherlock moved closer towards her, very slowly and very carefully, Joan's eyes following his movements with curiosity and apprehension. She returned his look, and her eyes widened as she breathed in deeply, too afraid to break his gaze yet even more frightened of continuing to look at him. Despite having told him the truth, she still felt overwhelmed with guilt and fear, and having him so close to her only increased those feelings. She did not believe that she could even begin to imagine what he was going through at this time, and she held herself fully accountable for it. Less than a couple of seconds later she felt the warmth of Sherlock's body next to her own, and she moved her gaze from his cheek to his eyes, which were watching her with concern and adoration. He did not seem angry or upset, although there was certainly concern and slight confusion etched upon his face, and Joan also thought she could see just a slight degree of fear.

As Sherlock reached her side, he slowly lifted his left hand and placed it over Joan's right hand, which remained by her side. His touch warmed her hands, and she felt the heat and comfort radiate throughout her entire body, and found herself feeling much more at ease. He was looking at her intently, with kindness and compassion present in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly, before placing his right hand just behind her left shoulder, and gently reassured her. "Watson, Watson it is alright" he stated in a quiet yet confident tone. After he spoke these words, and she maintained their stare for a few moments, Joan felt her eyes welling with tears, and she moved her hands from his own and clasped them tightly across her mouth, lowering her head towards the ground as she tried to calm herself. Sherlock acted immediately, using his right arm to gently ease her towards him, before wrapping both of his arms around her as he had done in Ms Lake's office, and he held her for several minutes whilst she cried gently into his shoulder. They remained like this for just over a minute, with Sherlock closing his eyes in pain as he heard Joan's quiet sobbing. He continued to hold her confidently, and with great strength, until he could feel her moving away from him. He instantly removed his arms from her, not wishing to cause her any distress, and watched her as she moved just a step backwards.

"Sorry, Sherlock, I..." she began, clearing her throat as she spoke in a more confident and composed tone than the one which she used to confirm her pregnancy.

"You do not have to apologise for crying, Joan. I'd imagine that today has been-" he spoke to her as kindly and as gently as he ever had before, which Joan was grateful for. But before he could finish his statement, she interrupted him.

"I don't just mean for crying." She said in a slightly lower tone, wiping her eyes before recovering herself almost completely, and staring up at him. "I mean for everything, Sherlock. For not telling you, for how you found out, for putting you in this position-" Her voice shook slightly as she continued to speak, and Sherlock took a step closer to her and placed his right hand upon the top of her shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"Watson, Watson I need you to listen to me for just a moment, alright? Please, will you come and sit down?" He spoke softly to her, and she accepted his request, allowing him to lead her over to the couch where they both sat, side by side. "Watson, I... I understand" he began, looking at her as she met his gaze. "I understand your reticence to discuss the matter with me, and I am not angry at you, at all. And I need you to believe that, okay?" She looked up at him, and nodded slowly, before waiting patiently for him to continue. "May I ask how far along you are?"

Joan swallowed and breathed in quickly before answering his question. "Almost eleven weeks." She stated, watching him for just a moment before adding, "it's your baby, Sherlock. The baby is yours." Her voice was quieter now, but she sounded completely calm and composed. Sherlock nodded slowly, turning slightly to face her more directly.

"Yes, yes I deduced as much" he spoke gently, and in a reassuring manner. "Have you known for long?"

Guilt clutched Joan's heart, tugging at it relentlessly. "I found out a few weeks ago. I had some routine tests done at my final doctor's appointment. She called me later than afternoon to tell me, and I went back in the evening to confirm it." Joan sounded very close to normal, but was slightly quieter than usual. "I should have told you then. And I am so, so sorry that I didn't. You deserve an explanation, Sherlock, and I hope you will allow me to explain, when you are ready, of course."

Sherlock placed his hand over one of hers, which was resting on her thigh. "My dear Watson" he began gently, as she felt flooded with the same warmth and comfort which she had experienced a few minutes before, "I am not angry that you did not tell me immediately. I imagine it was quite a shock for you, and you needed some time to consider your options-"

"Wait, wait Sherlock" she interrupted, looking from their hands to his eyes, which were watching her with interest. "I... I'm sorry, but I... I was never in any doubt over" she paused, staring at the wall behind him for a moment whilst she composed herself, before continuing, "Sherlock, I want to keep the baby. I did not want a termination, I couldn't, I-"

"It's alright, Watson" he began, pulling her gently towards him. She rested her hand on his chest for a moment, and could feel his heart racing beneath his shirt. She moved away slowly, sitting right by his side, before waiting for him to speak. "I'm sorry, Watson, I did not mean to distress you. I just assumed that you needed some time to think over what it was that you wanted, without any outside influence."

"You are not outside influence, Sherlock." She stated with a confidence and certainty that he had not heard from her in a while. "This baby is yours and mine, and I really want to discuss this with you. I just... I panicked. I was afraid. We were working on the case, and I did not want to distract you when those little girls needed us to focus on them completely." She paused, looking up at him, and watching as he nodded at her in understanding.

"You said you were afraid, Watson" he began gently, his hand still wrapped around her own. "What was it that you were so frightened of?"

Joan did not answer immediately. She knew the answer to his question, but forming it into words was more of a challenge than she had anticipated. A few moments later, she responded. "I was afraid that you would be angry, or disappointed. I didn't want to put you in a difficult position, one in which you would feel trapped. I did not want to hurt you, Sherlock." She looked from her hands to his face as she spoke, and watched as his eyes shone with intelligence and understanding. "But I have."

"No, Watson, I assure you, I am not angry. Do I wish you had told me sooner? Yes. But that is more because of you than me. I understand your reasons, and I understand your intentions, which I am very grateful for. But this was not something you should have felt you had to deal with alone, regardless of the circumstances." He spoke with confidence and certainty, and despite her guilt, Joan felt more absolved with each word that he uttered, although she repeatedly questioned whether she deserved it. "And you have not trapped me, or forced me into a situation, or coerced me into anything. As I recall, we were both present that evening, and I believe I played at least a minor role in your current condition." For the first time that day, Joan smiled, and stared at Sherlock with warmth and gratitude.

"Thank you, Sherlock. But please understand, I am still sorry for what I did." She paused for a moment before continuing. "And I have put you in this position, because I want to keep our baby. Over the past few weeks everything has seemed so confusing, and so difficult. But this hasn't. I never doubted that I wanted to..." she broke off, and remained silent for several seconds.

"Watson, Watson" Sherlock spoke gently, drawing her attention to him. "I would never ask or expect you to do anything you were not comfortable with. Nor would I put you in a position where you felt that it was your only option, regardless of what you may have wanted." He paused for a moment, causing Joan to stare directly into his eyes. "I am not trapped, Watson, I assure you. I not only support the decision you have made, but I am glad of it. Truly, I am." Joan's eyes widened slightly, and she felt her mouth go dry as she shifted slightly in her seat.

"Sherlock, are you absolutely sure? Are you okay?"

"Dearest Watson." He replied instantly, moving closer to her and drawing her gently towards him. "I'm absolutely fine, I assure you. And so are you, I promise." She nodded, as they adjusted themselves on the couch, until she was leaning onto his right side, her arm wrapped across his chest. They stayed like this for a few minutes, each of them relishing in the company of the other, and glad that the boundaries between them had been removed.

"Thank you, Sherlock." Joan stated tentatively, pulling herself into a sitting position. "We have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

"Yes, yes we do." He replied congenially, turning to face her. "And we will discuss it, Watson. We will discuss everything that you are concerned about, everything that you wanted to say but felt unable to until quite recently, and then we will discuss what happens next." He was speaking with remarkable geniality and kindness, causing Joan to smile once more.

"We also need to talk about you, Sherlock." She spoke sweetly, as he turned his head towards her, appearing to be slightly confused. "This is huge, this is an overwhelming and frightening issue for you to have to deal with. And I want to talk about that with you, I need you to tell me how you feel, and what it is that concerns you." She spoke softly and warmly, and Sherlock found himself staring into her beautiful, dark eyes as she spoke. "This is not just about me, Sherlock. I need to make sure that you are okay. And so do you."

"Alright, Watson, we will discuss everything you wish to. But right now, I think it is important that you rest. It has been a long and difficult day for you, and you are exhausted." He placed his hand upon her cheek, drawing his fingertips lightly across her face. "Why don't you go to bed, sleep for as long as you need, and come down when you are ready? Then we will talk, alright?"

Joan considered his words for a moment, before nodding in acquiescence. He was right, she was exhausted. And she knew that she would be in a much better position to have this discussion with him after she was rested. Before she could respond, she felt the familiar buzzing sensation of her phone in her pocket, and turned to extract it, apologising to Sherlock.

"Joan Watson" she began, turning to face Sherlock. "Oh, hello Captain". Sherlock watched as Joan listened to the Captain for a few minutes, turning her head away from him and facing the fireplace, repeated the words "yes" and "of course" a few times, before hanging up. Sherlock looked at her with curiosity and expectancy.

"That was Captain Gregson" she began, switching her gaze from the fireplace to Sherlock. "Ms Lake has refused to give up the location of the girls to the police department." Sherlock nodded, looking at Joan curiously as she appeared to be preparing herself for further speech. "She told them that the only person she will talk to is me."


	10. Chapter 10

Joan and Sherlock remained on the sofa for a few moments, before Joan placed her phone in her pocket and stood up confidently. Sherlock watched as she did so, before standing to join her.

"Watson, are you sure you are ready for this?" He asked gently.

"I have to be, Sherlock. Gregson said she is stonewalling them at every turn, but will tell me the location if I come in and talk to her." Joan spoke resolutely, turning to pick up her bag as Sherlock continued to study Joan's behaviour. She appeared to be much recovered, and moved with the air of confidence and resolution which he had always admired in her. "I just need to wash my face, grab a new shirt and then we can leave." She pulled her hair from her jacket and faced Sherlock confidently, observing him as he watched her with concern. "Sherlock I'm ready for this, I promise you. And when this is over, we will be able to talk. About anything, everything. All it is that you're worried about and that we need to deal with." She spoke in a softer and gentler tone, yet one which revealed no fear or apprehension.

Sherlock nodded slowly, and she walked past him towards the hallway, before the staircase was met with the familiar sound of her heels. As he heard her reach the top of the stairs, he slowly moved back a few steps before sitting himself back on the couch, entwining his fingers together and resting them beneath his chin. The events of the past few moments replayed repeatedly in his mind; the revelation itself, Joan's distress and subsequent recovery, her fears for him. Sherlock closed his eyes when he considered this last factor, and bowed his head slightly. The thought that she concealed her pregnancy partly because she was afraid of upsetting or worrying him saddened him. He was not angry by her conduct, far from it, he understood her reasoning and accepted it. His sadness was due to him blaming himself, considering what he believed to be his flaws, and attributing them to Joan's distress and concern about telling him about the baby. Joan was an incredibly empathetic, caring and conscientious individual, who always put the needs of others above her own. Even at times when it was the other people who should be helping her. And he would, Sherlock assured himself. He would. Whatever Joan needed, whatever their child needed, he would ensure they were taken care of and provided for. He would not allow fear or uncertainty to flood Joan's emotions, to make her too afraid to confide in him about anything, certainly not something as important and as life-changing as the existence of their child. As he came to the end of his stream of thoughts, he heard the light sound of Joan's footsteps as she descended the staircase, and he stood up immediately, turning to greet her as she re-entered the room. Her hair was freshly brushed and her make-up reapplied, and she was wearing the same black skirt and tights that she had been wearing before, but had changed her white blouse to a silky grey one. She smiled pleasantly at him as she re-entered the room, and he walked to meet her.

"And you are quite sure, Watson?" He asked tentatively.

Joan placed her bag on the couch and rifled through it, before placing her phone and wallet inside, and turning to face Sherlock. "Yes, Sherlock. Absolutely." She offered him a sweet but tired smile, reminding Sherlock of how urgently she was in need of rest. He believed that she was currently functioning on adrenaline alone, and would soon crash. He nodded slowly to her, and they walked out of the building together. One of the police officers from the scene had driven Joan's car from the counsellor's office to the brownstone, and had posted the keys through the letter box. Joan picked them up, opened the door, and led the way to her car. She and Sherlock discussed the case for the five minute journey, before pulling up outside the precinct. Joan turned off the engine, but her fingers remained upon the keys, not removing them from the ignition. She had spent a few seconds looking at the precinct and was now staring forward, and moving her lips slightly as if attempting to speak. Sherlock undid his seat belt and turned in his seat until he was facing her.

"Watson?" He asked gently, placing a hand upon her shoulder. The touch seemed to bring her out of her trance, and she turned to face him brightly.

"Sorry, yes. Yeah, let's go inside." She undid her seatbelt and removed the keys from the ignition, easing herself out of the car and shut the door, all without turning to face Sherlock, whose face she knew would be full of worry. He rose from his seat and exited the car, meeting her by the pavement as she walked around the car to meet him. Without a word, they both walked briskly towards the precinct, Sherlock observing Joan carefully, watching her with compassion.

When they had taken just a few steps into the precinct, Detective Bell strolled confidently towards them, files in hand. "Thanks for turning up guys, I know it isn't ideal, especially after what you've been through, Miss Watson." Bell looked kindly at Joan, who offered him a small smile.

"I'm fine Detective, but thank you." There was a temporary silence which made Joan feel uncomfortable, and she was aware that both men were watching her closely. "Where's Gregson?" She asked, unable to bear their silent concern any longer.

"He's with Emily Lake, interview room 4. Ever since making her demand to talk to you, she hasn't said a single word. Gregson has been trying to get some information from her, but with no luck so far." Bell punctuated his sentences with various gestures and movements of the files he was holding, which he passed to Joan. "You sure you're ready, Miss Watson?" He asked, as she opened the file and began to read. It was a transcript of the interview so far, with details of everything Emily Lake had said, how she appeared, and how she reacted to certain individuals and lines of questioning. Joan studied the file for a few minutes before glancing up towards Detective Bell, who was watching her as she read.

"I am now." She smiled, closing the file and handing it back to him. "Interview Room 4, right?"

"Yes, Miss Watson. But there's just one other thing." He replied, nervousness evident in his voice. Joan looked up, concern flashing in her eyes. "She said she will only speak to you if you are alone."

"No. Absolutely not." Sherlock declared in a confident yet authoritative tone. "After what she put Miss Watson through this morning, asking her to be in the same room with her is difficult enough. But without people she feels comfortable with, and who can help her if Ms Lake acts or reacts in a certain way, is beyond contemplation." Sherlock's eyes were bright and wide, and he leaned back on his heels and held his hands by his side in an agitated manner.

"It's alright, Sherlock. It's okay" Joan began calmly, passing the file over to Bell as she turned to face Sherlock, who stared from the detective's face to hers. "I will be fine, I can handle it. You, Gregson and Bell will be on the other side of the glass, watching and listening. You won't be more than a few feet from me at all times." She spoke slowly and with care, ensuring that Sherlock was listening and observing her every word. "Besides, I think we can count on the detectives to have disarmed her. She won't be pulling any more gun-related stunts, I promise. Okay?"

Sherlock exhaled sharply as he met her gaze. She seemed tired and slightly nervous, but overall she was confident and determined. "Watson, I-" he broke off, unable to complete his sentence, or to even remember the words he had been considering using. "We will be on the other side of that glass, always. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, press the panic button immediately. Agreed?" He was trying to sound confident and assured, but his voice shook slightly as he spoke.

"Yes, Sherlock." She responded calmly. "Now, let's get this over with. He faster she talks, the sooner the Devereaux family are found." She walked past Sherlock and Bell and towards the interview rooms. The two men followed her close behind, with Bell walking into the room where he could observe the interview from behind the glass, and Sherlock remaining by Joan's side for a moment. Joan approached the door, staring at it for a few moments, before turning to face Sherlock. She smiled reassuringly at him, and he nodded, before joining Detective Bell in the adjoining room. Joan's smile fell suddenly, and she inhaled deeply, before raising her hand and knocking on the door. Captain Gregson answered it within seconds, pulling it shut behind him as he exchanged a few words with her. Their conversation was a briefer version of the one she had just had, and Gregson rested his hand on her shoulder comfortingly before walking past her, and joining Sherlock and Detective Bell in the next room. Joan turned towards the door, which was opened by just a fraction, and walked inside, before drawing it slowly shut behind her.

As she turned around slowly, her face wore a mask of confidence and determination which she was determined would not break. She met the gaze of the handcuffed woman at the table on the other side of the room, and walked slowly towards her, before pulling out one of the chairs opposite and sitting down. She cast a quick glance to the wall to her left, where the mirror was, and then focused her attention completely on Emily Lake. Ms Lake was sitting perfectly still, her legs crossed and her hands resting comfortably on the desk. Her expression was one of confidence and resolution, a look which Joan considered to be bordering on arrogance. Her hair and make up were perfect, and she did not appear to be at all nervous or unkempt. In fact, Ms Lake's present demeanour reminded Joan very much of their first encounter, where they had sat in a similar position, opposite one another, and built up a rapport. Ms Lake had worked out things about Joan, she had deduced things, in a sense; and her keen and observant eyes were travelling across Joan's body with interest, before she tilted her head slightly, smiled, and began to speak.

"You changed your blouse, Miss Watson." She commented, her voice sweet and soothing, yet with a notable sinister undertone. "All for me? It wasn't necessary, I assure you. You looked quite lovely earlier this morning. Not that you don't now, of course. That light, silky material is most definitely your colour." She smiled for a moment, staring at Joan directly in the eyes. "What does your boyfriend think about it?" Joan was not surprised at this line of questioning. She was fairly certain that someone as trained and experienced in understanding people's emotions would have noticed the close relationship between herself and Sherlock. The fact that the latter had practically run across the room to comfort her was certainly a strong indicator of romance. In the eyes of some, at least. But Joan was determined to make sure that their positions of questioner and subject were not blurred or reversed, and she maintained her calm expression as she returned Ms Lake's stare. Behind the glass, Sherlock moved uneasily on his feet, and watched Watson with concern.

"I don't have a boyfriend, Ms Lake." She stated simply. "And my love life is not the reason why I am here. Captain Gregson told me that you-".

"Oh but it is, Miss Watson, it is." She interrupted, leaning forward slightly in her seat, causing the cuffs around her wrists to gently clink. "It is true, I did tell Captain Gregson that I would reveal to you the location. And I have every intention of doing so. But first, I want to talk to you, Miss Watson. And your 'love life' will be the subject of that conversation. Do you agree?" Joan considered her words for a moment, understanding precisely what she was asking and what it was that she expected. She wanted to talk about Sherlock, and possibly even the baby. She knew that she was going to prison for a very long time, and wanted to have one last chance to analyse someone, to study them and to delve deep into their mind. Joan was her latest interest, someone she found to be fascinating, and she was not going to miss an opportunity to talk with her further. Joan nodded slowly, and looked back towards Ms Lake, who was watching her with interest. Behind the glass, Sherlock shifted uncomfortably on his feet, placing his hands deep in his pockets and rocking himself forward. He watched Ms Lake with a look bordering on contempt, before looking curiously at Joan. He, too, had worked out the motivation for Joan being summoned, and was already certain of what her actions would be.

"I came here to discuss the location, Ms Lake, not myself. If you aren't going to tell me where the children and their mother are, I will leave. And you can go to jail." Joan spoke with confidence and resolution, her gaze not once leaving Ms Lake.

"Mothers and children." Ms Lake repeated slowly, glancing towards the glass and then back to Joan, smiling once more. "The first time you discussed the subject you referred to them as 'the Devereaux family', but just now you discussed them in terms of their familial relationship. Not just their position as a wife, or as siblings, but more specifically in relation to maternity." She watched Joan with interest, as the consulting detective breathed in deeply before returning her gaze. "Isn't that interesting." Joan waited for a few moments before responding.

"There are only a handful of ways I could have referred to them collectively, Ms Lake, it is hardly remarkable. Now, will you-"

"Are mothers and children on your mind, Miss Watson?" Ms Lake interrupted once more, her expression being one of innocent and bemused interest. Joan stared at her intensely, understanding exactly what she was trying to do.

"Ms Lake, are you going to tell me the location of your captives or not?" She asked, clasping her hands together and placing them on the desk in front of her. Ms Lake smiled and looked down at the table for a moment, before looking up once more, staring at the mirror for a few moments, then back to Joan.

"I will tell you where the Devereaux children are, Miss Watson, if you tell me about yours." Joan's eyes widened for a moment, before her face became once more impassive. Behind the glass, Sherlock had shifted slightly in his position, closing his eyes briefly before reopening them, to find Gregson and Bell staring at him with wide eyes.

"Is she pregnant, Sherlock?" Gregson asked, his usually gruff voice full of concern. Sherlock looked towards him and met his gaze, before nodding slowly, and turning back towards the glass. He placed his hand over his mouth as she continued to watch the interview, noting the movements of Gregson and Bell behind him, as they whispered to each other in the bakground.

"I have no children, Ms Lake." Joan responded cautiously, shifting slightly in her seat.

"That's not strictly true, though. Is it?" Ms Lake returned, her eyes falling from Joan's face to her abdomen. Joan swallowed slowly, moving her clasped hands from the table and resting them near her abdomen. This had been an unconscious action, and she had only realised the change in position when she felt the warmth and comfort of her own hands near her stomach.

"You said children, not mother and children." Joan began, focusing her stare once more on Ms Lake. "Are you saying that the mother and children are not together? They are separated?"

"Mothers are never separated from their children, Miss Watson." Ms Lake returned immediately, shifting slightly in her seat. "Not at the early stages, during pregnancy" she continued, staring at Joan's stomach before looking up towards her face, "and not afterwards, either. It is the deepest connection which cannot be severed, in life or death." She paused, adjusting her hands on the desk. "I kept the mother with her children, Miss Watson, which is more than she did for me."

Joan adjusted herself in her seat, before placing her clasped hands on the table and focusing on Ms Lake, who appeared to be recovering herself from her recent angry outburst. "I cannot even begin to imagine what you went through, or what you are going through right now" Joan began, her voice filled with genuine warmth and compassion, "but those children do not deserve to suffer, and nor does their mother. Don't put another mother through this pain, Ms Lake. If you feel that the actions of Mrs Devereaux were as unjust and as cruel as you are describing, then I urge you not to repeat them."

Ms Lake considered for a moment, her eyes glancing to her right and peering at the glass, before turning her head and facing Joan. "The threat of losing a child, Miss Watson, is not as simple as that. You will not convince me that my actions are wrong or somehow unjust" she stared at Joan with a harsh, almost frightening glare, before her eyes slowly softened, "I am not ashamed of what I have done, or intend to do. That woman does not deserve your pity, Miss Watson. And she certainly won't get mine."

"What about her husband?" Joan countered, her voice remaining calm. "First you took his children, and then his wife. He must be in the worst place imaginable, and as a mother who lost her son, surely you can empathise with a man who is not without his family?"

"I am not overly concerned about that, I must admit. Unfair, yes. Wrong, perhaps. But he is not my concern. He has nothing to do with this."

"He has everything to do with this" Joan responded immediately, successfully controlling her anger. "They are his children, and what happens to them effects him just as much as it will his wife. By punishing her, you are condemning him to the same fate. The same thing you experienced."

Ms Lake turned towards Joan, a satisfied yet sinister smile on her face. "If you are so concerned about the rights of the father, Miss Watson, then why is it that you did not reveal your own condition to your partner?"

Joan froze. Of all the things she had expected Ms Lake to say, that was not one of them. She did not know how she could have known that she had kept her pregnancy a secret, and she was unsure how she could be so convinced that she knew the identity of the father of her child. But then she remembered their previous conversation: Joan's love life. She recalled how the counsellor would have seen Sherlock rush towards her, desperate to comfort her. This had led her to correctly guess that they shared a deep, personal connection, but it was quite a leap from that to being the father of her child. Despite this, Joan had no doubt that Ms Lake knew of her child's paternity. And this concern was affirmed by her next statement.

"It was pretty clear from the look on his face that he had not suspected it. I'm sure you saw it, Miss Watson, you strike me as being notably perceptive. His name is Holmes, isn't it? I heard one of the detectives mention him when I was taken away." She now spoke with a smug, satisfied air which struck Joan as harshly as a physical blow. Her thoughts immediately drifted to the men behind the glass. She knew that Gregson and Bell would understand the situation, and would now know Joan was pregnant, and that Sherlock was the father. In fact, if she could have seen the shocked looks on the men's faces, and the questioning looks they sent to Sherlock, she would have rushed outside the room immediately to talk to them. She was not upset or ashamed by this, by the fact that she and Sherlock had slept together and created a baby. She just wished that she and Sherlock had been allowed some more time to discuss the subject fully, before being able to tell people the news themselves. She did not appreciate Ms Lake taking that from her, certainly not for a second time. She pursed her lips and swallowed, before turning to Ms Lake confidently.

"Yes, he is the father of my baby" Joan began, knowing that to deny it would be an injustice, and also futile. "And I am not ashamed of that, or of him. I didn't conceal my pregnancy from him because of my disdain for him, or my belief that I had more of a right to the knowledge and decisions relating to my pregnancy than he did. Quite the opposite." She stared at Ms Lake for a few moments, gathering her thoughts and allowing her words to sink in, and hoping her next words would be understood by more than one person. "It was an act of love. It may have been misguided, and unfair, perhaps it was even wrong. But it was not will ill-intentions. I acted in the way I did because I wanted to... to protect him. To be able to figure things out, to achieve some clarity, and wait until we were both in the right place before I told him. I didn't want to force him into a corner or make him feel compelled or obligated in any way. I was afraid. I believed I was doing the right thing, but now I realise that perhaps I was not. But I did tell him, this afternoon. And it made me realise that not only did I not need to be afraid of telling him, but that it was best decision I could have possibly made. For him, for our baby and for myself." She paused, hoping that her words would have a greater effect on Sherlock than on Ms Lake. "I do not hold the rights of the father secondary to those of the mother, Ms Lake. Nor does Ms Devereaux, and nor should you." Inside the room behind the glass, Sherlock had been listening to the conversation with deep interest, and he felt almost physically pained at the position Joan was being put in. He knew how private she was, and how vulnerable she was at this time, and he felt that Ms Lake knew this also, and was tearing her apart, piece by piece. But as Joan made her last declaration, he realised that he could not be more wrong. Ms Lake was not destroying Joan, but empowering her. It may not have been her intention, it almost certainly was not. But it was the effect of her actions. Gregson and Bell had been watching the interview in a trance, casting looks to Sherlock and mumbling short questions to him. He answered these questions quickly and with conviction, before staring back to Joan, the strongest and most wonderful woman he knew, and finding himself in absolute awe of her courage.

"I understand, Miss Watson." Ms Lake began after a short interval of silence. "And I believe you, and I admire your conviction. You logic is admirable, and your thoughts justified." She continued, the arrogance leaving her voice and face. "And I am sorry for what must happen, what will happen. But I cannot allow my son's death to be brushed off, to be seen as both necessary and justified. Someone must atone for what happened, and it will be her. And it will be apt, I assure you." She turned from Joan now, and informed her that she would no longer be discussing the matter with her. Joan stared at her for a few minutes, before realising that further questioning would be futile, and a waste of the precious little time that they had left. Without a word, she slowly rose from the table and walked towards the door, casting a look back towards Ms Lake as she left.

"I am truly sorry for the death of your son, Ms Lake. The prospect of losing a child is terrifying, the thought itself being more unbearable than I can possibly imagine." Ms Lake was still facing the wall, but Joan could see her eyes glisten at her words. "But you must understand that this is not right. This will not change what happened, it will not bring you peace. All it will do is inflict the same pain on another family. Do you want that? Would you want that for your child? For your son?" Ms Lake closed her eyes, inhaling deeply before turning to face Joan.

"I have already decided, Miss Watson. There is nothing that can be done by you or by anyone else. Although I must offer you my most sincere thanks for visiting. Our conversation has proved to be enlightening, to say the least. And not just to myself, I would imagine." She placed her cuffed hands in her lap, and Joan left the room, allowing the door to close sharply behind her. As she stepped out, she leaned against the wall of the interview room, placing her face in her hands. Not only had she failed to secure a location, but she had put herself and Sherlock in a difficult position, one which she was not prepared for. She removed her hands from her face as she heard the door next to her opening, and watched as Sherlock joined her in the corridor, followed by Gregson and Bell.

Sherlock walked to her immediately, standing just inches from her, and looking down at her with concern and admiration. "My dear Watson, are you alright?" he asked gently.

"Yes, yes I am. It's fine." She replied, uncertainty evident in her voice. "Sherlock I am so sorry. She worked out that I was pregnant the first time I went to see her, but I had no idea that she-"

"You have nothing to apologise for, I assure you. I have confirmed the pregnancy and paternity to Captain Gregson and Detective Bell, both of whom had worked it out during the interview. They are not angry, Joan. They are slightly confused, perhaps their parents did not have certain discussions with them when they were younger." Joan laughed weakly at this, before gazing up to meet his eyes. "I know this is not how you wanted them to find out, but they know, and it is alright. They expressed concern for you, for us, for the baby, but they support you. They adore you, Watson, almost as much as I do. Joan pressed her lips together and nodded, before walking past Sherlock and towards Gregson and Bell, who were standing slightly behind him, a respectable distance away.

"Captain, Detective" Joan began, entwining her fingers and holding her hands in front of her. "I just want to-"

"Before you begin, Miss Watson, let me assure you" Gregson began, raising a hand as he did so. Sherlock turned around at this point, walking over towards Joan and standing by her side. "I was a little shocked at first, sure. It's not something that I saw coming, I'll give you guys that. But I am pleased for you, for you both. And you know that you have got the support of this whole department, this institution. But more than anything, you've got us. And we'll back you, you know that." He spoke in a kind and gently paternal tone, which moved Joan. She smiled sweetly and thanked him, before he continued to talk. "I don't quite know what'd going on between you guys" he spoke, referring to Joan and Sherlock, "but whatever it is, I'm sure you'll both figure it out. And if he acts up, Miss Watson, or gives you any grief, you come straight to me, got it?"

"I can assure you, Captain, that will not be necessary. Miss Watson has my complete and unconditional support." Sherlock spoke confidently and with authority, and Joan knew he meant every word. She looked up at him, and smiled.

"It's quite apt really, you guys getting together. I always said that-" Detective Bell was interrupted by Sherlock, who turned from Joan to face him.

"'Apt', detective? I've never heard you use that word before." He seemed confused, and slightly concerned, and he cast his mind back. He remembered that Ms Lake had used the word moments ago when referring to the fate of the Devereaux family. "Apt. That's the word she used, the exact word. She said that their deaths would be apt. An interesting word, yes? She is methodical, this woman. She has planned her revenge with precision, and is enacting it according to a pre-ordained plan that she believes somehow justifies her actions. She would not place her captives in any location, it would be somewhere of sentimental value, somewhere which reminds her of the crime of which she holds them accountable." Sherlock placed his hand in his pocket, drew out his phone, and began typing furiously. A few seconds later a bright smile lit up his face, and he turned towards Gregson and Bell with a satisfied look. "Captain, I believe I know where the Devereaux family are being hidden."


	11. Chapter 11

Joan turned on the spot to face Sherlock directly, as Gregson and Bell took a few steps closer to him, staring at his phone.

"What d'ya mean, Holmes? What have you found?" Asked Gregson, his brows crossing in confusion.

Sherlock lowered his hand and looked from Joan to Bell to Gregson, before leaning back on his heels and beginning to speak. "As we have discussed, Ms Lake is highly-intelligent, methodical and incredibly well organised. The motivation for her actions is grief, anger and the need for retribution. We can see from her actions, by taking the children from the family, that she wished to make the parents suffer as she did. But she found a flaw in her plan. Keeping the children from their parents caused an immense amount of grief, but with Mrs Devereaux not continuing with counselling, and becoming a virtual recluse during the two week period in which her daughters were missing, Ms Lake was unable to view that grief. She was not satisfied. Her plan to cause the mother pain had worked, but only to a certain extent. And she wanted more. Hence the second abduction. Ms Lake realised that her need for revenge required her to be able to observe the distress and fear of the mother when faced with the prospect of losing her children. So she took her, kept her with them for a while, and undoubtedly informed her as to her long-term plan for the three of them. This would have caused even more distress than she could imagine, reuniting a terrified woman with her children, then telling her that they would soon be permanently separated." He paused for a moment, and his colleagues watched him with interest, nodding occasionally and willing him to continue. "It was not enough for Ms Lake to know the mother was distressed, or even to see her sadness at the prospect of losing her children permanently. Therefore, it is unquestionable that she has placed them in a secure location, somewhere of significant emotional value, where she intends to carry out the deed."

"How do you know she is gonna do it personally?" Interposed Gregson, moving slightly on the spot.

"Because of her confession earlier this afternoon to Miss Watson. She told her that she had physically pulled the child from the car herself. Despite being backed up by her hired associates, Ms Lake wanted to maintain a notable hands-in role in this crime, and I doubt it stopped at the initial kidnapping. The way she has planned this, and her motivation, is indicative of an individual who wants to exact extreme personal vengeance, and she believes that the most effective way to achieve that would be to carry out as much of the crime personally as is possible." Gregson nodded, and waited patiently for him to continue. "To achieve the desired effect, she would have felt compelled to carry out such an act personally, of that I am certain. Just as I am certain that the location at which the family are currently being held at is one of significant emotional attachment to Ms Lake. Not only that, but it will be representative of her son. Not his life, you understand, but his death. I looked into the bar in which he was killed, which is a relatively modern building which is still occupied by the family who bought it originally, and has been open regularly and consistently ever since the attack. Therefore, this as a potential location is out of the question. So I pursued a different possibility, and scoured the local papers for the obituary of Mr Masters, and found that he was buried in a cemetery four miles from the home of the Devereaux family. In this cemetery are eight crypts, two of which are empty." He paused, placing his phone in his pocket. "Captain, I am quite certain that this is the most likely place in which the children and their mother are being kept. As we are unaware of how long they have been there already, their current condition, and the presence of Ms Lake's associates, it is imperative that we leave immediately." Gregson agreed, and Sherlock read out the address to him. The former then walked into the centre of the precinct and drew the attention of several officers, briefly explaining the most recent turn of events and passing on the address, before instructing them to drive there immediately. The precinct was once more buzzing with activity, and Gregson, Bell, Sherlock and Joan led the way out of the precinct, piling into Gregson's car and racing to the scene.

Gregson's car was the first to pull into the entrance to the cemetery, and was closely followed by three other patrol cars. The cemetery was one of the oldest in the city, and was guarded by a tall black fence and gate. The paint on the fencing was old and flaking, the tips of the spokes and the lock itself having rusted over slightly with weather and age. Sherlock and Joan flung the car door opens and rushed towards the gate, closely followed by Gregson, Bell and a group of officers. Sherlock pushed the gate open forcibly, and the team rushed in. The graveyard was large and neat, with the scent of freshly mown grass present in the late evening air. There was a large expanse of grass and tombstones to the immediate left, which were divided by a series of intricate stone pathways. Directly in front of the gate was a high stone wall which lined the perimeter, leading up to the old church with a damaged slate roof. Against this wall stood six crypts, all identical in size and appearance. They were constructed from a grey stone material, were approximately ten feet by twenty, and stood tall against a series of ageing oak trees. Sherlock and Joan rushed towards them, looking at them each in turn, searching for any sign of recent entry or tampering. As Sherlock, Gregson and Bell approached the daunting buildings, Joan turned around, watching as a small army of police officers began to infiltrate the grounds. As she saw this, she noted a gravestone about three feet from where she was standing. The name on the gravestone was Jacob Masters, the son of Ms Lake. Joan turned around quickly to find that the gravestone directly faced the third crypt from the left, which was yet to be studied by Sherlock and the police, and so she ran towards it. She removed her gloves quickly, tossing them on the ground along with her bag, and began pulling on the handle of the large, heavy door. Her demeanour and desperation attracted the interest of Sherlock, who rushed to her side at once.

"Watson? Watson what are you-"

"It's this one, Sherlock, this is the crypt. It is situated directly opposite the grave of her son" Joan stated between breaths, as she pulled heavily upon the door handle, despite the fact that it appeared to be either locked or jammed. Sherlock nodded, and approached the door itself, before placing his fingers upon the edge of the door and examining it, before shaking his head.

"Stand back, Watson." He stated gently, and she followed his instructions, moving back a few paces and watching him with interest. By this time, the pair had been joined by Gregson and Bell, as well as a couple of the officers who were not already busying themselves with attempting to open the other crypts. After satisfying himself that everyone was at a safe distance away from the door, Sherlock took a few strides back, before running at the door and forcing all of his weight onto the heavy frame. It juddered notably, much to Sherlock's satisfaction. He went back to his original position and ran at the door once more, the sound of a loud thud filling the air, as the brass lock began to rattle. On the third attempt, the door was thrown open, and splinters of wood fell helplessly to the ground as Sherlock rushed in, closely followed by Joan. The sight which they beheld left them both relieved and speechless.

The crypt itself was to be larger than it outwardly appeared, with its high concrete walls leaning imposingly over several reinforced shelves which lined the walls, and a large, mounted casket towards the back of the room. To the right of the casket sat the two children, wearing the same white dresses in the video. Their hands were tied together, and a piece of thick, white material had been used to bind their mouths. They looked up inquisitively at the new entrants, fear and confusion present in their eyes. To the left of the casket lay Mrs Devereaux, still wearing her running clothes, her back to Sherlock and Joan. Joan instinctively ran towards the children, quickly but carefully undoing their bindings whilst whispering statements of reassurance to them. When she had freed them, she placed her hand upon their foreheads, and surveyed their bodies for any signs of trauma or injury. Once she was satisfied that they were physically healthy, she placed a hand on each of their shoulders and drew them gently towards her.

"It's alright, shh, it's alright. You're safe now, I promise you. You are both safe." They seemed to find comfort in her words, and cautiously moved forwards and wrapped their arms around her neck. She removed her hands from their shoulders and welcomed their embrace, drawing them to her as closely as she could, hugging them tightly. "Everything is going to be okay. You're alright now, I promise. You're okay." She kept repeating the same statements, to herself as much as to the girls. The relief she felt at having safely locating them was immense, and beyond expression. As she felt their weak and tired arms draw tightly around her neck, she held them closer, closing her eyes for just a moment to fully take in the situation. The girls were safe. They were okay. She was drawn from her thoughts and her gratitude by Sherlock, who was calling across to her in a tone of notable urgency.

"Watson, I believe Mrs Devereaux is in need of your attention." Joan looked up immediately, drawing herself back from the girls' arms, and looking at them in their wide, blue eyes as she spoke.

"I just need to check on your mother, alright? I just need to make sure she is okay, and I will be back." She spoke gently and kindly to the frightened girls, whose eyes widened as she slowly moved backwards. One of the girls, who she believed to be Jenny, threw herself at Joan, wrapping her arms tightly across her neck and burying her head in her hair. Joan closed her eyes slowly, considering the trauma and confusion these girls had already experienced, and felt incredibly conflicted at leaving them. "Sweetheart, it's okay. You are all safe now, okay? I promise. But your mum has hurt herself, and I am a doctor, so I need to help her, okay?" Joan felt the little girl slowly lean back, and look deep into the depths of her eyes. Joan smiled reassuringly, cupping her cheek with her hand, before slowly standing. By this point, Gregson and Bell had entered the crypt, and were approaching the little girls slowly and cautiously, speaking to them kindly as they did so, before each picking up one of the girls and carrying her from the building. Joan walked around the casket and stood by Sherlock, who was leaning over and pressing his scarf to Mrs Devereaux's head.

"She has a nasty head contusion, Watson, although she appears to be breathing. She regained consciousness for a few moments before losing it once more." As he spoke, Joan watched as Sherlock gently held the scarf to Mrs Devereaux's head, applying gently pressure and moving her hair slowly from her face. His kindness and his care touched her, and she watched him with warm and approving eyes as she bent down by his side and placed her own hand over the scarf. Their fingers touched for just a moment, and they turned to look at each other. Joan was clearly tired and concerned about the well-being of the family, and Sherlock's eyes shone with relief and satisfaction.

Joan slowly lifted the folded, blood-stained scarf from Mrs Devereaux's head and examined the wound carefully. She was pale and her lips were dry and slightly chapped. There was a bruise forming just below her right eye, and her hair was slightly dishevelled. The head wound itself was a laceration, approximately three inches in length, which appeared to be fairly deep. Judging from the amount of blood on the ground and on Sherlock's scarf. Joan judged that Mrs Devereaux had been assaulted in this very spot, and had fallen unconscious almost immediately. Despite her startling appearance and worrying wound, Mrs Devereaux was breathing steadily and her skin was warm to the touch. Nevertheless, Joan took off her black jacket and wrapped it across her lying figure, before reapplying the scarf with gentle pressure.

"The wound is nasty but fairly superficial. Head wounds always bleed a lot, they tend to look worse than they are. She will almost certainly have a concussion, possibly even amnesia, but she will recover." Joan spoke with relief, but tiredness was evident in her voice.

Sherlock had been standing behind Joan, watching her as she gently tended to the injured woman. During this time, Sherlock was marvelling at how incredible Joan Watson was. Her strength, courage and convictions inspired him, and it was hard to believe that the woman who was kneeling confidently in front of him and tending to an injured victim was the same woman who had appeared utterly distraught just an hour or so before. She was amazing, and he knew it. He just hoped that one day he would be able to make her realise it too. Before he could speak the sound of two sets of heavy footsteps approaching them from behind became apparent, and Sherlock turned on the spot to find himself face to face with two paramedics. He greeted them pleasantly and explained the situation, causing Joan to turn around and place her hands upon her knees before rising to her feet. She filled the paramedics in on the rest of the details, explaining the nature and prognosis of Mrs Devereaux's injury, and warning them that she would be extremely traumatised upon waking, and strongly advised allowing her daughters to ride in the ambulance with her. "It would be a comfort to them all" she stated, and the paramedics nodded, thanking her for her expertise. Joan responded pleasantly before walking slowly from the crypt, knowing that the medics would need all the space they could get. She walked slowly towards the doorway and stepped out into the churchyard, and observed how the sky appeared to be much darker than before. She leaned against the front wall of the crypt, closing her eyes and feeling the cool breeze against her face, before running her hands across her face and through her hair, and leaning back. She was aware of a presence next to her, who she knew to be Sherlock, and she opened her eyes slowly and looked over in his direction.

"Would you allow me to take you home, Watson? And for a longer period of time than the previous?" Sherlock's tone had a familiar air of slight levity, which Joan appreciated. Everything had felt so strange recently, so different, and so this small semblance of familiarity was a small comfort to her. She found herself feeling exhausted, so simply nodded in response, before following him back towards Gregson's car. The latter was standing near the ambulance, talking to the paramedics, but he turned around as he saw Sherlock and Joan approaching him. The couple paused for a moment, and Joan crossed her arms and drew them across her chest, not realising until that moment how cool the late afternoon air had become. Sherlock removed his black coat efficiently and draped it across her shoulders. This had been an unexpected gesture, which caused Joan to turn to her right and stare up at him, as she shook her hair loose and drew the jacket closer to herself, thanking him as she did so. The jacket was freshly laundered, but it carried with it his familiar and comforting scent, which she embraced as readily as she had the material and the warmth which it provided.

"I gotta say, you two did a terrific job" Gregson began, holding his hands out by his sides. "Without you both, the income would have been very different, so thank you. Now, Miss Watson, I must insist that you go home and rest."

Joan tilted her head to the side for a moment, before facing the other way and exhaling in slight frustration.

"Thank you, Captain, I am fine. Sherlock and I are going home now-" her sentence was halted by a yawn, and she clasped her hand tightly to her mouth. "Would you keep us informed of the progress of the family?" Gregson smiled and nodded, before extending his left arm and indicating towards his car.

"I'm riding in the ambulance with the mother and girls, but Officer Jackson has been instructed to drive you both home, alright?" Joan nodded and Sherlock thanked him, before placing his hand on her lower back and leading her towards the back of the car, opening the door, and closing it behind her. Gregson watched the scene with curious interest, and smiled to himself as Sherlock walked around the car and sat next to Joan. He had been surprised at first, and incredibly concerned, when he had learned of Joan's pregnancy and Sherlock's impending fatherhood. But watching them today, seeing how they worked together, both personally and professionally, instantly dispelled all of his concerns. They were a team, he concluded. Although they did not have a conventional relationship, or one which could be defined by certain social standards, it was one that worked for them both. If it could work for them as a pair, he believed it would work for them as a family also. Captain Gregson smiled to himself warmly at the thought, before turning around and joining the family in the ambulance.

The journey back to the brownstone was brief and silent. The moment she had sat in the seat, Joan felt herself curling into the cool, comforting material and resting her eyes. She was not asleep, and she had no intention of sleeping, but she wished to rest for the short journey so that she would be awake and alert once they reached the brownstone. She was more than tired, she was exhausted. But despite this, she had no intention of going to sleep straight away. She knew that the day had been a long and complex one, and she and Sherlock had much to discuss. She was certain that he wished her to rest at home, that he would insist that their conversation could wait. But she did not want it to have to, and she was fairly sure that he had many questions and concerns which he would be struggling with whilst she slept. She had no intention of distressing him further, or causing him any additional emotional confusion or conflict. Instead, she resolved to discuss all of his concerns with him that night, hoping to alleviate his fears, address his worries, and begin to discuss what they were going to do. She opened her eyes as she felt the car slowly stop, and found herself outside the brownstone. She allowed her eyes to adjust to the light for a moment, before thanking the police officer who had driven them home and getting out of the car. She walked around the vehicle and towards the pavement, where she was met by Sherlock, and they walked to the brownstone side by side.

Sherlock opened the door slowly, holding it open to allow Joan to pass through. He had expected her to walk straight upstairs and shut herself in her room, she was clearly exhausted. Instead, she strolled confidently and intently towards the kitchen, placing her bag down upon the table, slowly removing Sherlock's jacket, and walked over to the stove. Sherlock remained in the hallway for a moment, turning to close the door, before following her to the kitchen. As he entered, he saw her stood by the stove, warming up the kettle and selecting some mugs and tea from the cupboards. She began preparing the mugs as the kettle boiled and hissed in front of her, as she leaned onto the work surface, placing both hands upon it and raising her head up.

"Watson?" Sherlock called, confusion etched in his voice, as he slowly approached her.

Joan turned around, pushing herself off from the work surface and turning to face him. She crossed her arms and placed them protectively across her abdomen as she watched him, neither of them speaking for a few moments.

"I'm just making us some tea. It was so cold outside, and it has been a while since either of us had anything to eat or drink." She spoke gently, in a voice tinged with tiredness and sadness. "I thought it would be a small comfort to us both as we continued our previous conversation."

Sherlock watched her with interest, before taking a few steps closer to her until they were just a couple of feet apart, and looking down upon her with a curious and concerned expression.

"Watson, you are exhausted, you really ought to rest. We can discuss everything once you have-"

"And will you rest, Sherlock? Or will you stay up all night thinking, analysing, worrying yourself?" She posed these questions kindly and with compassion, offering him a subtle yet knowing look as she did so. "I think it would be helpful for us both to at least begin to talk about it" she continued, turning towards the stove as the kettle had finished boiling. She lifted it with caution and began to pour the hot water into the mugs. "I know it must be difficult for you, and I'm sure it's not something that you want to-"

"I assure you, Watson, it is not something which is difficult for me to discuss. And it is certainly not something which I intend on avoiding or placing to one side for a while." He spoke in a voice equally as gentle as hers, in a tone and manner which reassured Joan greatly. She paused for a moment after he spoke, the kettle hovering in mid-air, before continuing to pour the water and placing the kettle back on the stove. She picked up one of the mugs and tuned around, handing it to Sherlock.

"I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to imply that-"

"I know." Sherlock responded kindly, saving her from what he knew would be a difficult and confusing explanation. He watched her as she turned around and picked up her own mug, wrapping her hands around it in her usual fashion, and standing still on the spot. They stared at each other for a moment, each a perfect mirror image of the other, as the steam from the mugs began to rise into the air. "If you are ready, Watson, and feeling up to it, I will gladly and willingly discuss our baby with you." Joan's breath caught in her throat, and she almost lost her grip on the mug completely. Hearing him speak so kindly and so sincerely made her feel instantly at ease, and she almost assured herself that the conversation they were about to have would be okay. That they would both be able to discuss things openly, objectively, and with a focus on the needs of their child, which she held as paramount. It was at this moment that she smiled, before looking down at her mug, adjusting it in her hands. "What is it, Watson?" He asked, smiling slightly in return, confusion etched in his voice.

"No, nothing, I... it's just..." Joan began, feeling confused and slightly perplexed at her own reaction. "It's just nice to be able to talk about the baby, to say the word out loud. I've been afraid to, really, in case... I don't know" she smiled nervously, readjusting her grip on her mug. Sherlock nodded in understanding, waiting until her head rose once more and she met his gaze.

"Are you sure you are ready, Watson?" He asked tentatively. She nodded immediately, and walked across to the table, pulling out the chair with its back to the kitchen. Sherlock followed her, taking up the chair to her immediate left, and placing his tea upon the table. He adjusted his chair slightly so that he was facing her, before offering her a comforting look which made her feel more relaxed. Joan placed her own mug upon the table, clasped her hands nervously, and allowed them to fall into her lap. Both of them were silent for a few moments, trying to form their thoughts into words.

"Watson, were you worried that I would not support you? That I would not help you?" Sherlock asked gently, looking at Joan with concern. She watched him closely, her confident eyes never once shifting uncomfortably or avoiding his gaze.

"No, Sherlock. I never doubted that. If anything, I was worried that you would feel obligated, and that it would make things difficult for you." She answered promptly and with conviction. "I didn't want to hurt you, and I convinced myself that delaying telling you was the right thing to do. But it wasn't, and I am sorry. And I hope you understand that I am not just saying this to appease you or to ease my guilt. I am truly sorry, Sherlock." She spoke sincerely and with great calmness. Seeing her feeling this way, and hearing her open up to him, touched Sherlock deeply.

"As I said before, Watson, you have nothing to apologise for. You needed some time to think things over, to decide on the best way and time to tell me. The case we were working on was one of incredible importance and strain, and I understand your delaying telling me because you were concerned about my ability to focus." He paused for a moment, his eyes not leaving hers. He knew that his words did not comfort her as much as he would have liked, but they were honest and sincere. He did understand her actions, and he did not blame or condemn her for them. "You were doing what you believed to be right, Watson, and you kept our child safe and you ensured that I was alright too. Regardless of the sacrifices you had to make. I'd imagine this has been quite a difficult time for you, and I am sorry that you had to go through it alone."

Joan chewed the inside of her cheek slightly, whilst unclasping her hands and crossing her arms, leaning forwards slightly before responding. "But I wasn't alone, Sherlock. I did not feel alone, I never felt by myself. I knew you were here, and I knew you would listen and you would be willing to talk and to discuss the baby, but I was afraid of putting you in a position that you weren't comfortable with."

"You aren't putting me in any position, Watson, I assure you." He began, speaking gently as he clasped his fingers together and rested his hands upon the table. "We both created this child. I distinctly remember being present at the occasion." Joan smiled slightly, her tired eyes warming at his words. "I do not consider your pregnancy to be an inconvenience or an obstacle, rather I consider it to be what it is" he paused for a moment, watching her as she raised her head and faced him, "beautiful." She was not expecting him to say that. She was not expecting something negative, or condemning, but she certainly did not anticipate him using a word he seldom ever used. A word with such meaning, such connotations and such potential. "The fact that this child exists, and will be part of us both, is nothing short of exceptional, miraculous in fact. And the fact that I got to be part of this is a truly humbling fact, and I am deeply honoured, Watson, please believe that." Joan could feel her eyes welling with tears, and she faced downwards for a moment in an effort to compose herself. It was clear from his words and his demeanour that he was being sincere, and his plea for her to believe him affected her deeply. And she did.

Joan rose her head slowly and watched him for a moment, nodding slowly before smiling at him. "I feel exactly the same way" she began, meeting his gaze. "Your are the most incredible, inspiration person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. And regardless of the complexity of this situation, of our relationship, of the circumstances... I am happy. It feels wonderful to be carrying this baby, and knowing that it is yours, and that it is part of you, part of us, is the most empowering and incredible feeling I have ever experienced." She finished speaking, and they continued to stare at each other, their bright eyes conveying their contentment and understanding. Sherlock looked down nervously, glancing at his hands for a few moments, before staring at the floor.

"Part of me" he repeated, his voice sounding slightly more nervous than it had done previously. "I can't help but wonder, Watson, how the part of me which our child embodies is a good thing or a bad one." Joan looked at him for a moment, tucking her hair behind her ear as she adjusted herself slowly in her seat. She turned towards the table and pulled her bag close towards her, before opening it and removing her wallet. Sherlock slowly looked up from his trance and began watching her curiously as she opened her wallet and removed a small square photograph from beneath a picture of her parents and brother. She looked at the image for a moment, her eyes softening and the corners of her mouth rising slightly, before placing the image down upon the table and pushing it gently towards Sherlock.

The photograph was the ultrasound picture of their baby. Sherlock tilted his head and considered it with interest for a moment, before reaching his hand outwards slowly, as if afraid that touching it would make it disappear. He slowly placed his finger upon the bottom right hand corner of the image, and drew it closer to him. His eyes were wide and alert, darting curiously over the image as he traced the outline of the baby's body with his index finger. "It's as you said, Sherlock" Joan began, drawing his attention towards her, "this baby, our baby, is exceptional, miraculous, and beautiful. And that is because of you, Sherlock, not in spite of you."


	12. Chapter 12

*** A/N: Hey everyone, thank you for you reviews and continued support!

ElementaryFan: I am not a counsellor or therapist, but thank you for the complement :) I'm glad you enjoyed the case, I was slightly unsure of it myself, I was not certain it would work! But it may not be over just yet ;)

Again, if there are any issues/problems/OOCness, please let me know :) Comments and criticisms are greatly appreciated.

\- HQ21

Sherlock slowly looked up from the ultrasound picture and stared at Joan, who confidently met his stare. "I know this is scary, Sherlock. This is something which neither of us has any experience in, and was completely unexpected. But that does not mean that we cannot educate ourselves, and make ourselves aware of what to expect." She spoke softly but with a notable air of confidence, and Sherlock found himself drawn into her speech.

Sherlock nodded slowly, before running his finger alongside the smooth material of the ultrasound photograph, before placing his index fingers in the top corners of the picture, and tracing the border of the image. "I want you to know, Watson... I want to be very clear" he began, speaking in a calm and even tone, "that I intend on being with you every single step of the way. You are not alone, nor shall you be. Anything you need, anything you feel that our child needs, shall be yours. Theirs." His voice was kind and soft, causing Joan to smile at him without realising it.

"Thank you, Sherlock, that's..." she paused, unable to form words which were appropriate to convey her gratitude, before staring at him lovingly as he diverted his attention from her to the ultrasound photo, and back to her. "You can't imagine how wonderful that is to hear."

"Take your time" she stated quietly, tilting her head slightly to observe him, "it took my breath away at first too." He looked up at her and held her gaze, before nodding in agreement, and holding the ultrasound up in his hands.

"It's quite remarkable, Watson" he stated, his eyes transfixed on the image. "Quite remarkable." He stared at the picture for a few more minutes, before handing it carefully back to Watson, staring at it as she placed it in her purse.

"Sherlock, I-" she began, before once again stopping herself. He clearly wanted to be involved, which she was grateful for, but she did not want to make him feel as though she were making decisions for him. After a few seconds of uncertain silence, Sherlock shifted in his seat and leaned closer to Joan, staring up at her whilst he called her name gently, which drew her from her reverie. "I have a doctor's appointment next week. It's just routine, and I... I was wondering if you would like to come?" Sherlock leaned back in his seat, musing over the tentative way in which she posed the question.

"I would love to, Watson, thank you." He responded, genuine gratitude prevalent in his voice. He stared at the table immediately afterwards, as if fearing he had shown too much of his emotional side.

"Did you not think you would hear such words from me?" he asked gently, without remonstrance or annoyance in his voice.

"What? No, it's not that, it's just... I was worried that it would be too difficult, too much. Are you absolutely certain that you are alright with this?" She asked, fear present in her tone.

Sherlock moved his chair closer towards her, clasped his hands in his lap and faced her with confidence. "You're right, Watson. This is an unexpected situation, certainly not one which I ever considered myself being part of. But that does not mean that it is something I am averse to."

"That's not what I meant, Sherlock, I'm sorry, I just-" she paused, considering her words carefully. "You have a lot going on, personally and professionally, and I was afraid that... that you would feel overwhelmed." There was silence for a few moments, whilst both Sherlock and Joan considered the words which had just been spoken.

"I feel overwhelmed often, Watson. By my thoughts, my deductions, my work and my lifestyle." He paused for a moment, allowing her to take in her words. "But I never once felt overwhelmed by you. You brought to me a level of... of happiness and contentment which had otherwise alluded me completely."

"A baby is different." She stated simply, her mind not allowing her to accept his kind compliment. "Babies bring disruption and change to people's lives, which is often expected and welcomed. I... I don't know if we can... if we can ensure that the baby will be as welcomed and as happy in our world as we are in his or hers." Joan looked down at her clasped hands sadly, chewing on the side of her cheek before raising her head slowly.

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, considering her words. "Are you saying you do not wish to continue with the pregnancy, Watson?" he asked gently and tentatively. She looked up immediately, shaking her head.

"No, no that's not... that's not what I..." she paused, her sentence breaking off. She was becoming more distressed during this conversation, and Sherlock moved closer to her and placed his hand slowly upon her own.

"Watson, Watson it's alright, it's alright." He spoke quietly and gently, in a voice which roused her from her fear, and restored her confidence, just for a moment. "Please, Watson, tell me what it is you mean. It's alright, I assure you. It's alright."

"It's not alright, though, is it?" she asked, facing away from him as she tried to control her falling tears. "It isn't alright and it will not be alright." Sherlock kept his hand upon hers, and waited patiently for her to continue. He was nervous at her fear and agitation, and feelings of uncertainty and helplessness overcame him. "What if we..." she paused, breathing in sharply before continuing, "what if we can't make the baby happy? Secure? What if we mess this up?"

Sherlock waited for a few moments whilst Joan calmed herself, and he slowly removed his hand from hers, and reached across the table for the ultrasound picture, placing it on the table in front of her. She looked down at the image and her eyes widened slightly, before she closed them immediately in order to prevent herself from crying. The baby was beautiful, and she wanted to keep it more than anything, but she was concerned that their lifestyle and complex relationship would not provide the most stable upbringing for a child. She explained this slowly to Sherlock, who listened intently, nodding politely at intervals.

"I understand, Watson, I really do. There are certainly elements of what we do are who we are that we need to discuss. And we will, I assure you. But right now, after the day that you have had, we are not in the best position to have such a conversation." He paused, watching her as she shifted slightly in her seat. "Please understand, I do not wish to belittle or demean your concerns, which are very plausible and completely understandable. What I am suggesting is that we use the remainder of the evening to rest, to sleep, and we can approach this with clearer perspectives in the morning. You need to rest, Watson." He spoke gently and tentatively, watching her carefully as she processed his speech. Shortly afterwards, she nodded imperceptibly, and began to rise from the table. He rose with her and stood by her side, causing her to stop walking and turn to him.

"May I sit with you, Watson?" he asked cautiously, his eyes flashing with uncertainty.

Joan considered him for a moment, perplexed as to his request. She nodded slowly, before saying "sure", and they walked upstairs slowly, Joan leading Sherlock. She gently pushed her bedroom door open and walked towards her bed, running her right hand across the sheets, before slowly seating herself on the edge. She then began to remove her boots, kicking them aside, and she gently tapped the section of the bed next to her side. Sherlock approached her slowly, and by the time he reached the bed she had pushed herself back, and lay herself down gently, her head resting upon the soft pillows. Sherlock remained seated on the edge of the bed, turning his head slightly to watch her as she shifted slightly to the right. Joan then turned on her side, facing Sherlock, and watched him intently. "Would you come and lie next to me?" she asked, before leaning back against the pillows. Sherlock assented, and removed his own shoes before pushing himself upon the best, and moving slowly next to her. He was lying on his side to face her, and they stared at each other's bright eyes in the darkness of the room. Slowly, Sherlock drew the blankets over Joan, which she leaned into, murmuring in satisfaction as she did so. She sighed tiredly, placing one hand under her cheek and the other on the pillow, her gaze still fixed on Sherlock. A few moments later, Sherlock rose his hand slowly and gradually, before placing it upon her own, and moving closer to her. Her eyes shone, and she mumbled something tiredly, before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep. Sherlock remained by her side all night, watching her sleeping for a few minutes, before immersing himself in deep thought.

As Sherlock watched Joan, he recalled the sudden shift in her conversation and demeanour a few minutes ago, and wondered what had caused such a shift. One moment they had been discussing things calmly and clearly, before something happened which altered her mood. He ran his mind over the conversation, remembering every word, every gesture and every look. Watson's behaviour began to change shortly after he had offered his unconditional help and support to her. But why? Did she doubt his sincerity? His ability? Or his capability? Sherlock considered each of these for a few minutes, before realisation dawned upon him. She thought that a baby would destabilise him and his lifestyle, and threaten his sobriety. Sherlock closed his eyes slowly, sighing gently at the realisation. Joan feared that the significant changes which infants caused in the homes of their parents would unsettle him enough to risk his sobriety and general well-being. He also knew that, based on her demeanour and responses to various questions and statements, that she wanted to keep their child. His eyes widened slowly. He could not imagine the internal torment she was battling, the invincible and completely selfless Joan Watson, who feared that the two people she loved the most would be unable to remain together. Sherlock watched her as she slept soundly, and was grateful that she was finally able to be at peace from her constant thoughts and fears. He closed his eyes slowly, not sleeping, but thinking. He had meant every word he had uttered earlier, about helping her and supporting her and their child. And he would start right now.

Joan woke from her deep sleep eight hours later, as light streamed through the windows and shone across her face. She immediately felt more awake and alert than she had done in several weeks, and sat up quickly, stretching her arms. She turned to her side and noticed that Sherlock was no longer lying next to her, but a small cough from the bottom of her bed informed her that he had not left her. She turned towards Sherlock, who was sitting in the chair at the foot of her bed, and smiled pleasantly. "Good morning" she mumbled tiredly, rubbing her eyes as she gathered the blankets around her. Sherlock nodded in response, clasping his hands together as he stood from the chair, and moved slowly to her side, before perching on the end of her bed.

"Watson, I... I appreciate that it is early, and that you have only just woken, but might I have a word?" His tone ensured that the remaining tiredness within her disappeared, and she stared at him with keen and alert eyes.

"Yes, yes of course, please." She stated amiably, watching him with interest.

"I have been considering what we discussed last night, particularly what you were afraid of" Joan shifted slightly on the bed, rolling the blanket in her hand anxiously. "I want to assure you, Watson, that my offer was sincere, and not ill-thought out. I have been considering some options, and have an idea, if you are feeling awake enough to listen? She nodded rapidly, and he continued to speak. "As you know, this brownstone has three floors. This is the top, the living area, kitchen and foyer are the middle, and then there are the rooms downstairs. Well, I... I have given this a lot of thought, Watson, and I... I believe that it would make a suitable... apartment, for you and our child." Joan stared at him curiously for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she moved to speak.

"Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

"What I mean is that I could have the entire bottom floor converted into a suitable apartment, if you would consent, of course, and were comfortable with the idea. The whole floor could be refurbished. There are six rooms down there, Watson. There could be two bedrooms, a nursery, a bathroom, kitchen and living area. The second bedroom would be for... for if you wished to hire anyone to assist us with the baby, whilst we worked, et cetera. That area would be free from cases and experiments and clients, and be dedicated solely to our child." He paused for a moment, turning to Joan to watch her reaction. She chewed on her cheek nervously, before parting her lips and beginning to speak.

"Sherlock, that is an incredibly kind offer. Really, it is. Thank you" she paused, and Sherlock watched her with care, knowing she was waiting to continue. "But a floor would not divide us from our lifestyles, or from the dangers associated with it."

"It could be sufficiently protected, Watson, I assure you. I could see to it personally." Sherlock responded immediately, but in a calm and reassuring tone. Joan considered this for a moment, before thanking him once more, and continuing to speak.

"Sherlock, would... would you like me to move out? Is that why you wanted a separate floor for-"

"No, no Watson, that was not my intention. I thought you would appreciate space, an area where you and our child could be away from-" he froze, unable to finish his sentence.

"From you?" Joan asked quietly, shifting in the bed and removing her blankets, before moving towards him. "No, Sherlock, that is not what I meant at all, I did not want to exclude you or be excluded from you, I just... I just don't want to intrude on you, on your life, on your work, and-"

"My dear Watson, I assure you, you are far from an imposition." They were now seated just inches apart, and she was kneeling by his side, her legs beneath her. "I was just trying to find a solution that would appease you, that would make you feel less conflicted and divided. Renovating the bottom floor of this building was not an attempt to remove you from the brownstone, but a demonstration of how it is possible for you to stay." He paused, watching her as she eyes him curiously. "I understand your fears, and your concerns, and I do not dismiss their validity or reality. But think of who we are, what we do, and what we have done. We can protect our child, Watson, of that I can assure you. There are security measures, protective individuals, and a multitude of other methods we can use to ensure that our child will be protected at all times. We face threats to our own lives on a regular basis, Watson, and we defeat them every time. We would be even more thorough and efficient with our own child." Joan watched him as he spoke, and admired his well thought-out plan and strategy. "I would tear this apartment to the ground if it would console you at all, Watson. I know you want to keep this child, and I believe that there are ways in which we can make that happen. I would be honoured if you stayed, Watson. Both of you."

"And what about you?" she asked, removing her legs from beneath her, and sitting cross-legged on the bed. "You're considering what is best for me and the baby, but what about you, and what you want? You matter too, Sherlock, just as much as we do."

"No, Watson, that is not true" he stated, rising from the bed, walking to the window and then pacing the room. "You and the baby are the priority, and I-"

"Sherlock, Sherlock listen to me" she spoke gently, placing her feet upon the ground as she rose from the bed and crossed the room to stand in front of him. "You can't put me above yourself, hold my needs above your own, we just-"

"But that is precisely what you have been doing, Watson, is it now? In fact, your concern for my well-being has pervaded every decision you have made since discovering your pregnancy." He spoke firmly but did not raise his voice. She watched him for a moment, before bowing her head slightly and then facing him once more.

"You're right. You're right, and we are both doing the same thing. It's sending us in circles, and it is not helping the baby at all." Joan ran her hand through her hair, and could feel the frustration rising inside her. "How can you be so sure that we can keep the baby safe?" She whispered breathlessly.

Sherlock took a step towards her and rested his hand upon her shoulder, before drawing her towards him gently with his other arm. "Because, dear Watson, the child will be in the company of the two people who care about them most in the world. And there is absolutely nothing we will not do to ensure their safety. I assure you, Watson, the child will be quite safe, and better protected than in any other household." Joan tensed slightly, and he moved back a few steps, clasping his hands in front of him. "If this is what you want, if you want the baby to remain with us, then we can make it happen. I would never suggest such a thing if the safety of yourself or our child would be put at risk. We have time to discuss this, time to think it through, to come up with a strategy which satisfies us both. Will you allow us that time?" he asked gently, tentatively. She nodded slowly, and he moved once more towards her, holding her tightly in his arms.

They remained standing like this for several minutes, until Joan tilted her head slowly away from his chest and began to speak. "What do you think about children, Sherlock?"

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly, and removed his chin from the top of her head as he stared down towards her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... is this... do you want this? Would you be happy with a child in our lives?" She looked up at him, a concerned look upon her face.

Sherlock remained quiet for a moment, before placing a hand upon her cheek and stroking her soft skin. "The thought of our child fills me with a mixture of emotions, a confusion of thoughts. But they are not negative, Watson, I assure you. The thought of a child, of our child, amazes me. It amazes and astounds me, and seems to be almost beyond comprehension. It is truly incredible, and I would be honoured if I were able to take part in the life of such a remarkable human being."

"Remarkable." Joan repeated, smiling at Sherlock.

"My dear Watson, how could such a child be anything but?" She smiled once more, before nodding slowly and looking back towards him.

"Are you sure, Sherlock? Is there anything about the idea that frightens you, that makes you uncertain?" She paused for a moment, allowing him to think. "It's alright if there is, you know I'm not sure that I'd believe you if you appeared to be fearless. I'm certainly not." Sherlock cast her a concerned look, before staring at the ground for a moment, then looking up as he spoke.

"There is a lot that concerns me, a lot that I have to learn, to be taught. But do not for one moment allow yourself to even contemplate that that means that I do not wish this child to be here. I do, I really do." He was speaking more earnestly and sincerely than she had ever heard him, and she stared at him for a while, completely mesmerised.

Joan did not speak for a few moments, and she and Sherlock simply remained standing opposite each other, not touching, but staring at each other intently. It was Joan who broke the stillness of this remarkable scene. "It isn't always easy to talk about the things that we fear, especially when they are at the forefront of our minds. If you are afraid, Sherlock, if you have doubts or concerns, it is okay. Really. But it is important that we discuss them, okay? So when you're ready, when you're feeling able to, please talk to me." She spoke gently but imploringly, and Sherlock nodded mechanically at her request.

"And what else is there left to discuss, Watson?" he asked, taking a step closer to her. She felt her skin tingle, and her cheeks flush. She did not break his gaze throughout this remarkable sequel to the previous scene. "What else is there that we need to address?"

Joan was silent for several moments, before breaking the silence to speak. "As I said before, there are some things which are difficult to discuss, and are hard to explain. The time needs to be right before such things are addressed, for both parties." She paused, and Sherlock nodded, his eyes remaining on her face. "The baby needs to be the priority, Sherlock. We cannot risk anything which could draw our attention away from our child. Not until we can be absolutely certain that we can keep the baby safe." Sherlock nodded in agreement, taking a step backwards, light from the windows flooding the empty space between them.


	13. Chapter 13

*** A/N: Thank you again for your kind reviews and advice, it is very much appreciated.

Martha Smith-Jones mentioned that she would like to see a conversation between Joan and her mother about the pregnancy, which I was going to allude to but not focus on, so your message prompted me to continue writing a scene on it. However, the scene soon turned into two thousand words, so I have made this chapter solely on Joan and Sherlock discussing the pregnancy with their parents. So thank you so much for the suggestion, and I think it is only fair that this chapter is dedicated to you (I just hope it does your suggestion justice!).

Thanks again, and please let me know if there are any issues/problems. I hope you enjoy the story!  
\- HQ21

Over the next couple of weeks Sherlock and Joan continued as normal. They consulted with the NYPD a few times, and took a couple of cases of their own, which were solved within days. During this time, Sherlock watched Joan covertly, ensuring that she was not becoming overtired or stressed due to their work. He was relieved to find that she seemed perfectly fine, apart from becoming tired a few hours earlier than she normally would, which reduced the hours they worked late into the night. Joan would often retreat tiredly to her room by ten or eleven, while Sherlock would continue to work into the early hours. She was waking up slightly later too, which he was grateful for. On multiple occasions he had received a phone call, or had a sudden idea or epiphany, and would rush quickly up the stairs before stopping just outside her room, his hand hovering above the door handle, and walking slowly back down the stairs, determined to let her rest. This lasted for almost two weeks, with Joan sleeping in until the mid-morning. But one morning shortly after this period, Sherlock had found himself lying restlessly in his room just after five in the morning, so he wandered sleepily down the stairs and into the kitchen. As he turned to switch on the light, he was startled to see Joan sat at the table, her face unreadable, staring in front of her as she wrapped her hands comfortingly around a cup of tea, which was now long cold.

"Watson?" Sherlock asked inquiring, slowly approaching her. "Is everything alright?" It took her a few moments to respond, and her tired eyes met his gaze, as she turned herself towards him.

"Sherlock, I, I've been thinking and, um..." she paused for a moment, and Sherlock used this time to walk from the living area and towards the kitchen table, where he pulled back a chair and sat down opposite her, waiting patiently for her to continue. "I think we need to tell our parents." Her tone reminded Sherlock of a misbehaving school girl who had been caught breaking the rules by the headmaster, and who was now desperate to tell her parents personally before a teacher got a chance to. He was so absorbed in this thought that, for just a minute, he did not take into account the implications of her statement. Until now. He looked up at her, his tired eyes now wide with interest, and placed his entwined hands upon the table. "It's been a few weeks, Sherlock, and I'm into my second trimester. It's not something we can keep secret for much longer, not that we have been. Not really."

Sherlock nodded slowly, swallowing quickly as he felt his heart beat faster. "You're right. Of course you're right. Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked tentatively.

She nodded immediately, looking down towards the cold tea and then back to his face. "I just called my mother. She always gets up at half-four to go running, so I knew she'd be awake."

"And you told her?"

"No, no I didn't" she mumbled quietly. "I was going to, I thought it would be easier over the phone, but I couldn't. I didn't want to take the easy option, I wanted to choose the right one. So I arranged to meet her for lunch at twelve. I'll tell her then." Sherlock watched as her chest rose slightly before falling. She had not been this nervous or agitated over the last two weeks, and it was unsettling to see her worrying so much now.

"I understand that you're worried, Watson. Your mother is very conventional, very much a traditionalist. But she is also your mother. And the concern she showed over your happiness and well-being during the beginning of our companionship, and her acceptance of your new role as a consulting detective, clearly shows how much she adores you. She will be surprised, I'm sure, this will certainly be unexpected for her. But it will be alright, Watson, I assure you. She may need some time, but she will accept it. And she will love her grandchild as she loves you."

Joan had been chewing the side of her cheeks during this speech, and inhaled deeply as she tried to prevent the tears from falling from her eyes. Sherlock moved forward slowly, removing the cold cup from her grasp and holding her hands tightly. "It will be quite alright, Watson, I assure you." She looked up at him, her eyes shining, and nodded.

"Yes, yes I know." She inhaled slowly, before smiling, and continuing to speak. "I'm sort of looking forward to it, actually. I think it will make it seem more real somehow. You know?" Sherlock nodded, squeezing her hands reassuringly. "So... are you, I mean, you don't have to right now, obviously... there's no obligation but, um... are you going to tell your father?" Sherlock felt her hands tense beneath his own, causing him to reply almost immediately.

"Yes." He stated simply and confidently, before checking his phone. "It is just after midnight in England now. He will arrive at his office shortly before nine, to brief his platoon of sycophantic employees. I will call him then." Sherlock's certainly and confidence surprised Joan, and she watched him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

"I didn't mean to force your hand, Sherlock." She stated apologetically. "If you aren't ready, it's understandable, we still have some time. I just want to make sure they hear it first-hand. So far we have kept it between ourselves, Gregson and Bell, but we won't be able to hide it for much longer. And I'm not sure that I want to." Sherlock looked up at her for a moment, his wide eyes softening as she smiled.

"You are not forcing my hand, Watson. I had been intending on having this conversation with my father for quite some time now. And you are correct in your logic. They do need to know. And telling them ourselves, as soon as we are able, would be for the best." She nodded, removing her hands from his and brushing some her from her face, before crossing her arms across her chest.

"We have our doctor's appointment tomorrow, too. Are you still coming?"

"There is nowhere else I would rather be." He responded immediately, looking from her hands to her face. She nodded, smiled briefly, and then rose from the table.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I'm going to try and get back to sleep for a couple more hours." He nodded slowly, watching her as she stood. She walked slowly towards him, bending down slightly as she drew her red jumper closer to her, and kissed him chastely on the cheek. "Thank you." Sherlock closed his eyes as he felt the warmth of her lips, which soothed his nerves. His eyes remained closed as he heard the gentle sound of her feet on the floor as she ascended the stairs, only opening them when he heard her bedroom door close behind her. He tapped his fingers on the table, before running his index finger along a small scratch in the woodwork. He then rose from his seat, walked over to the stove, and began preparing some scrambled eggs. He would need his energy in a few hours.

Six hours later, Sherlock was sitting in his armchair by the fireplace, reading the local news on his laptop whilst casting furtive glances towards Angus, as Joan entered the room. She was beautiful. Her hair was wavy and elegant, and she was wearing a figure-hugging white dress with a red jacket and matching shoes, whilst holding a small silver clutch bag in her left hand. Sherlock looked up at her, mesmerised by the sight which lay before him.

"You look wonderful, Watson" he gently spoke, before rising and crossing the room with a manner so confident and self-assured that Joan felt instantly at ease. He stepped towards her, paused when they were a few inches apart, and looked at her earnestly yet with conviction. "It will all be alright, Watson, I assure you. You're certain you are fine with going alone?"

"Yes." She stated confidently, before offering him a comforting smile. "It's the right thing to do. Besides, I've seen her confused, bemused and disapproving looks for my entire life, I should be immune to them by now." Joan's voice was filled with false levity, but it was clear that she was concerned. Sherlock reached down and took her free hand, raising it to his lips, where he kissed it warmly. Joan closed her eyes, and her thoughts swam and mingled at the tender touch. She re-opened her eyes as Sherlock moved his glance from her hand to her face, and she smiled once more.

"Your mother will not be disappointed, Watson. Surprised, yes. Concerned, almost certainly. But she could never be disappointed in you, of that I am certain." His words were warm and sincere, and Joan was grateful for them. She nodded once more, thanking him, before leaving the room. Sherlock remained planted on the spot until he heard the door close gently behind her, and the familiar sound of her car leaving the spot outside his house could be heard. He nodded slowly, walking over to the armchair and tentatively picking up his phone from its position on the arm, before walking through the kitchen and down the stairs, where he entered the kitchen area, and sat himself by the window. He breathed in heavily, moved slightly so that he was sitting with a straight back and an impassive face, and exhaled slowly as he began to dial.

Joan arrived at the home of her mother and stepfather shortly after twelve. As she parked her car in the driveway and turned to lock the door, the familiar sound of her mother's voice came from behind her, as she called her name from behind and approached her confidently. Joan's stepfather was at work, and would not be home until the late evening. By which time, Joan was sure, her mother would have called him and filled him in on all the details. Mary Watson walked towards her daughter, placed her hands upon her shoulders, and drew her close, before planting a kiss on each cheek.

"It has been a while, dear." She began, mild chastisement evident from her tone. "And my, haven't you changed. You're positively glowing" she stated, reaching up and cupping her cheek. Joan smiled through a sigh and tilted her head to the side, thanking her mother and returning the kisses.

"It's lovely to see you, mother." She stated warmly, before following her into the house. Mrs Watson led her through to the conservatory, an elegant outbuilding with a splendid view of the beautiful garden. Joan sat herself in one of the seats, adjusting the cushions as she gazed adoringly out of the windows and towards the multitude of colours and shades which the garden held. Her mother had a talent, it was undeniable. She had worked hard, all year round, to ensure that the garden was magnificent. And it was.

"Tea, Joan? I made you some of that nice mixed berry that you lived on during college-" Joan zoned out of the conversation as she watched her mother pour the tea from her delicate china set. The scent of the tea filled her nostrils, and she was suddenly overcome by a feeling of nausea and unease. She turned sharply away from the tea and towards the slightly open window, inhaling the fresh air and breathing deeply.

"Is something the matter, Joan?" Her mother asked, looking up from the tea pot as she continued to pour.

"No, no it's fine." Joan replied, turning towards her mother and offering her a small smile. But as soon as she turned, the scent of the tea wafted into the air, and the strong scent hit her with a stronger force than before. The scent seemed so strong to her, so overwhelming, that she could actually taste it, causing her stomach to churn. She paled slightly, causing her mother to turn to her in concern, placing the tea pot down and moving closer to her, talking to her in words which Joan was unable to focus on.

"Joan? Joan?" she called gently, placing her hand on her daughter's knee. As Mrs Watson leaned in to talk to her daughter, the wave of nausea which hit her overwhelmed her, and Joan rose from her seat and walked briskly through the conservatory and into the garden. Joan leaned against the outside of the building, throwing her head back as she breathed in some of the clean, fresh air. She could not believe what had just happened. She had not been struck by morning sickness like this before, and certainly not from fruit tea, which she had been drinking for several weeks now. As her thoughts became jumbled and unclear, Joan placed her hand over her eyes, steadying herself as she began to stand upright. As she turned to re-enter the conservatory, Joan could hear her mother's heels approaching her with caution.

"Joan?" Mrs Watson asked, standing directly in front of her daughter, and edging closer towards her. "Joan what is it?" she asked, reaching a hand up and placing it upon her head. "Are you sick? Why don't you come back inside, I'll get you some water, and we can-" 

"I'm pregnant." She stated, her voice slightly quieter than she had intended. Her mother looked at her with a blank expression, blinking at short intervals as she paled slightly. Her silence and stillness concerned Joan, who considered repeating her statement. Before she was able to, her mother spoke.

"You... I'm sorry, Joan you... you're pregnant?" She asked, stepping back slightly and folding her arms across her chest, looking at the ground for a moment before staring back up at her, confusion in her eyes. "How did... how did this happen? How-"

"You have two children, mother, I'm sure you're aware of how it ha-"

"Don't be insolent, Joan." She stated firmly, reprimanding her daughter as if she were a child. Joan's heart ached as she considered the rest of this conversation, the possible way it could turn. She saw her mother's confusion, bewilderment and anger in her mind, all in less than a couple of seconds. What happened next surprised her greatly.

"I'm sorry, Joan" she stated sheepishly, crossing her arms tighter as she shifted her position, disturbing the gravel beneath her feet. "I'm sorry, I just... I wasn't expecting you to-" her mother sighed, pursing her lips together before placing her arms by her side. "How far along are you?" 

Joan watched her mother with interest, surprised at the sudden change in her behaviour. "Just over twelve weeks" she spoken in a low tone, not meeting her mother's curious gaze. She felt her nervousness abate slightly, and her heart had stopped pounding in her chest. She had anticipated her mother's disapproval, due to her conservative and traditional beliefs, and she had hoped that they could discuss the baby and that she would warm to the idea. She had not expected her mother to react like this, certainly not of her own volition. And from her tone and her stance, Joan believed that she was being completely sincere.

Her mother nodded, pursing her lips together once more, as she stepped closer towards her. Mrs Watson tilted her head to the side slightly, watching her daughter's curious eyes survey her. Joan had always been intelligent and driven, but the courage and conviction in her actions and tone was overshadowed by the fear in her eyes. Mrs Watson had noticed it the moment she met Joan by the car, but was completely unprepared for the reason behind such worry. She stepped closer towards her daughter, placing on hand tentatively on her shoulder, before using the other to draw her in to a warm embrace. "Are you alright?" she asked gently, as her hand moved comfortingly across her lower back.

Joan closed her eyes tightly, nodding into her mother's shoulder as she bit her lip. She opened her eyes slowly and stared towards the sky, fighting back the tears and attempting to calm herself before speaking to her mother. She breathed in slowly, before tilting her head slightly so that her mouth was not covered by the dark material of her mother's fitted jacket. "The baby is Sherlock's" she stated, her voice hoarse and quiet. She felt her mother's hand stop moving along her back, and she pulled away slightly, tilting Joan's face towards her own.

"Your... your partner, Sherlock Holmes? The man you are working for?"

"With, mother. We work together." She responded, swallowing as she anticipated the next question.

"How did... when did you both become-"

"We didn't, we aren't, I-" Joan paused, not responding because she couldn't find the words. She was unable to answer this question to herself, despite having thinking it over constantly, and she certainly could not explain it to her mother. "We had a difficult day, we were both emotional, and I... it just happened. Once, one night, and then..."

"Alright, alright." Her mother soothed, aware that her strong daughter was becoming distressed. She was surprised by this news. She had not expected Joan to have children, it was a subject which she had avoided with skill over the past decade or so. Despite this, despite it all, she knew that Joan and Sherlock had some kind of connection, a contagious energy which they shared, which was evident from the first time she met Sherlock at the restaurant. She did not understand their relationship, and from Joan's responses she did not believe her daughter did either. But she trusted her instincts and choices, especially when it came to her own happiness. Joan had changed in the past two years or so, and although Mary did not understand her decisions, she understood that they seemed to satisfy her. Her daughter was beautiful, brave and strong, and for once Mary resolved to give her support, not silence or indignation.

"And have you told him? Sherlock?" she asked after a few moments, watching her daughter lift her gaze to meet her own.

"Yes, we talked about it. Talk about it, I should say. We are still working it out."

Mary nodded slowly, watching as Joan pulled her jacket closer to her, crossing her arms.

"You're cold. Come on, let's head back inside. I'll get rid of the tea, and we can talk, alright?" Joan nodded slowly, gratefully, as she followed her mother inside. Her mother walked over to the table and placed the tea things on the silver tray she had carried them through with, and turned to face Joan. She indicated for her to sit down, before walking from the room with the tray, as Joan eased herself back into the cushioned seat. She removed her jacket slowly, resting it over the back of her chair, carefully removing a loose piece of cotton from her watch as the two connected upon it being removed. She turned from the back of the chair to the front, looking down at her watch before staring directly ahead, focusing on the copy of the Rembrandt which hung in front of her. She wondered what time it was in London.

Sherlock had dialled the number for his father's London office, and stared at it for a few seconds before pressing the call button. He looked at the numbers on the screen, staring at them until they seemed unfamiliar to him, not like numbers at all. He swallowed quickly before pressing send, and raising the phone to his ear. He tapped the fingers of his left hand upon his knee, leaning forward slightly before reclining against the window. As he heard his father's voice at the end of the line, he sat upright, his eyes darkened, and he began to speak.

"Father. Not a bad time, I trust?" He spoke cordially, his fingers tapping rapidly upon his knees. His father replied that the time was fine, and asked why he was calling, reminding him that they had not spoken in over three months.

"Yes, well, you know how it is. Criminal organisations, plots and enterprises do not disappear at the precise moment I need to return a phone call." Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, regretting his tone as soon as he had spoken. He and his father had always maintained a frosty yet cordial relationship, but he had never called him with something so personal. He did not fear his reaction or response, but he was concerned about what he would do, and what he would expect himself and Watson to do. He was certain that he would be sceptical, and virtually certain that he would not approve. But in the moments leading up to this conversation, this prospect had bothered him less and less. Sherlock and Watson wanted the baby, and were discussing ways in which to create the safest and most nurturing environment for him or her. His love and care for his child would not be undermined by his father's irrationality or insensitivity. Sherlock felt empowered by this realisation, giving him the strength to continue.

"You remember Miss Watson, father? My former sober companion?" His father was silent for a just a moment, before replying in the affirmative, and asking if she was alright. This surprised Sherlock, throwing him slightly. His father scarcely asked about his own well-being, let alone that of his associates. Although both Sherlock and his father knew that Joan Watson was much more than an associate. Though, at this precise moment in time, neither of them realised just how much.

"After a fashion, yes. Miss Watson is fine, father." Sherlock stated, his voice becoming more tranquil and reserved. He continued his statement in a much quieter, reflective tone. "She is carrying my child." His eyes rose from his feet to the door in front of him, waiting nervously for his father's response. He found the fingers on his left hand tapping his knee in a familiar manner, whilst both of his hands began to shake slightly. His mouth went dry and he swallowed, inhaling slightly, before considering what to say next. It felt like there had been silence for minutes, hours even, but in reality it had been only three seconds. Sherlock heard the sound of his father adjusting himself in his leather office seat, before breathing lightly into the phone. His father's tone changed. It was not consistent with his usual impassive, unreadable and often abrupt manner of speaking. Rather, it was lighter, reflective. It reminded Sherlock of the sound of his own voice when he had comforted Watson in Ms Lake's office shortly after her ordeal. His father spoke to him for just over a minute, and Sherlock listened intently, nodding as he did so.

Mr Holmes began his short speech by telling his son that it was alright, that Miss Watson and their child would be 'well taken care of and sufficiently maintained'. The fact that he was discussing Watson as if she were a new car made Sherlock sigh with anger, which was clearly picked up by his father, who quickly shifted his approach. He told Sherlock that he liked Miss Watson, that he felt she was good for him. He expressed his surprise at the revelation, and told his son that he had not expected this from him or Mycroft, but especially not him. He berated his son for his transgression, and for his lack of 'appropriate and necessary medical considerations', before stating that he had not understood his relationship with Watson to be 'of a physical nature'. However, he did express his appreciation that Sherlock had fathered a child with an 'intelligent, driven and empathetic woman' whose judgement and actions he trusted 'implicitly'. He also stated that she was the type of person who would make a very good mother, and would love and care for their child. He stated that he would personally contact Miss Watson and discuss the matter with her too, and offer his assistance in any way he could. Sherlock was surprised at the warm way in which his father spoke about Joan. He knew from conversations between his father and Watson that they had achieved some level of formal rapport, a mutual sense of approval, but he had no idea that his father thought of her in such a manner, with an appreciation for her humanity and kindness. Sherlock nodded once more, looking up as he realised that his father had finished. He was about to speak when his father finished his speech with a question. Mr Holmes asked his son of his 'intentions'. Sherlock did not hesitate, and replied immediately.

"I will support her and our child with all of my resources and energy." He responded confidently.

Mr Holmes mumbled his assent, and informed his son that he would discuss the matter with Miss Watson before coming to 'a suitable financial arrangement'. Sherlock rolled his eyes, pressing his fingers together on the bridge of his nose, before looking up to the ceiling and then straight ahead.

"I have my own funds, father, I can deal with the financial side of things. Besides, Watson would not accept your offer, I am uncertain whether she will accept mine." He paused for a moment, reflecting on his words. He and Watson had not discussed money, but he was doubtful whether he would accept money from him, certainly not the amount his father would offer her. "And I was not just speaking financially, father. There are other things to be considered with children, other than their bank details." Sherlock's tone was despondent, not cruel. His tone was low and his eyes faced the ground. His father shifted once more in his seat, before telling his son that he understood, and that he was glad that Sherlock had realised this. He asked whether there was anything else he wished to discuss, and whether he and Watson needed anything. When Sherlock responded in the negative, his father responded positively, assuring his son that he would assist him and Watson in any way possible, urging him to call if needed. He also told him to inform Watson that he would be calling her in the evening, and requesting that he tell her to call him at any point if she needed anything. She had all his numbers. Sherlock was once more puzzled by this consideration, and thanked his father, before hanging up the phone.

Sherlock held the phone in his hand for a few minutes, staring down at it. Suddenly it felt lighter. He stood up quickly, placed the phone in his pocket, and walked towards the stairs. He ascended them briskly, and was strolling through the kitchen when he heard the sound of keys in the front door. He walked through to the living room just in time to see Watson enter the room, looking up at him in surprise. She appeared to be calm, and notably more relaxed than earlier. He was glad.

"Watson, you're back" he began, standing by the armchair with his hands by his sides. "How was it?"

Joan placed her bag on the couch and began to undo her jacket, removing it as she spoke. "Just like you predicted, actually. Better than I thought. You?"

"The opposite to what I predicted, actually. If that's possible. Although I suppose I did not have any solid apprehension of how he would react."

"Is that good?" she asked, throwing her jacket onto the couch and crossing her arms as she turned to face him.

"Yes" he replied simply. "Yes, it is. He expressed his surprise and his concern, as well as admiration for you, and his certainty that you would be a wonderful influence upon this child." Joan watched him carefully, her eyes narrowing as she considered his changing expression.

"You will be an incredible influence, Sherlock. I know that, and so does he."

Sherlock did not respond to her statement, and he did not meet her gaze. "He also said that he would call you this evening, and that you should phone him at any point, should you require anything." Joan watched him expectantly, although she knew he would not address her previous comment. She nodded slowly, seating herself on the arm of the couch, placing her hands by her sides and preparing to discuss the matter further. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Sherlock's phone ringing, which he answered quickly. He spoke for a few moments, placing one hand in his pocket, before hanging up, his eyes glowing with anticipation and excitement.

"That was Captain Gregson. We have a case."


	14. Chapter 14

Joan watched Sherlock with interest from her place by the side of the sofa. The eager, impish look on his face was familiar to her, and she could tell he was eager to leave to work on the case, as well as avoid their conversation. For now, at least. Joan knew that attempting to continue the conversation would be of little use at the moment, certainly considering he had a case, and so she decided not to resist. Hopefully the case would distract him from his worries for a while, and then they would be able discuss them more openly. She nodded, to both herself and to him, before pushing herself up from the sofa.

"Are we meeting them at the scene?" she asked, picking up her jacket and bag.

"No, they are at the precinct. The incident was an armed robbery which happened a couple of hours ago, with one security guard shot and killed by one of the three robbers. The police did not think it necessary to call us, until a few minutes ago. It turns out that one of the assailants moved towards the safety deposit boxes towards the back of the building, opening only three of them, before removing the contents and leaving the building. The security guard tried to stop him, but was shot in the room with the safety deposit box rooms. The men ran out when their associate returned. They stole no cash, no items from the eighteen hostages, and made no demands."

"What was in the boxes?" Joan asked with interest, still not quite understanding the complexity of the case.

"The three boxes, my dear Watson, all belong to the same private health company., Jackson and Meade Health Organisation The information in those boxes contain information on their clients, who are both wealthy and influential, and are understandably concerned. Information on the physical weaknesses of some of the most prominent men and women in New York could be dangerous in certain hands. And the fact that money did not seem to factor in this robbery only deepens those concerns." Sherlock walked past Joan and into the foyer, picking up his coat and scarf and putting them on, as she left the living room and joined him, leaning in the doorway.

"So you think the people in these records are in danger? Do we know who they are?" She asked, crossing her arms.

"No, not yet. Captain Gregson has called the company and made them aware of the situation, and informed them of the details of the safety deposit boxes, so that they are able to notify their clients. I expect several of them will contact the police, possibly even come into the precinct." Sherlock responded, doing up his jacket. Joan nodded and walked to his side, picking up a red scarf from the coat rack and draping it delicately across her shoulders. "So we are meeting Captain Gregson at the precinct to discuss the matter further." He paused for a moment, turning towards the door before stopping, and turning back to Joan. "Are you sure you feel up to coming? Today has been particularly eventful for you."

"I'm fine, Sherlock. Really. Today was not as bad as I thought, and to be honest I would be glad to the distraction." She walked slowly past him and towards the door, turning as she placed her hand on the handle, "ready?". Sherlock nodded, following her from the building and towards her car.

Sherlock and Joan arrived in the precinct a few minutes later, and were instantly greeted by Gregson and Bell, who walked towards them intently.

"Glad you could make it Holmes, Watson" Gregson nodded to them both in turn, removing two case files from under his arm and passing them to the consulting detectives. "Here's all the information we've got so far, including some photographs of the scene, the ME's preliminary report, and various witness statements. The tech guys are going over the CCTV footage now." Sherlock and Joan nodded, opening the files and flicking through the pages. "If you guys wanna go into one of the free words and familiarise yourself with the material, we can then head to the scene." He stated, before glancing intently at Sherlock, looking down towards Bell, and then refocusing on Sherlock. Detective Bell noticed this look, and slowly walked towards Joan, raising his open file to her view.

"Hey, Miss Watson, would you mind helping me out? I could do with your help deciphering the ME's report."

Joan looked up from the file and looked at him curiously. The report seemed fairly straightforward to her, but she had used her previous medical skills to help explain things to Gregson and Bell before. Sherlock looked up from his file and glanced curiously from Bell to Joan, before focusing on Gregson. "Yeah, of course."

"Great, thanks" he responded instantly, indicating towards a vacant room behind her. "Shall we go in here?" She nodded, closing her case file and following him inside. When the door closed, Gregson was about to speak, but was interrupted.

"Yes, Captain?" Sherlock asked, lowering his case file and looking at Gregson with interest. Gregson's expression remained impassive, and he inhaled deeply before responding.

"Do you have a minute, Sherlock? My office?" he asked, his voice low yet gentle. Sherlock nodded, closing the case file and following him to his room. When they were inside, Gregson closed the door and indicated to a vacant seat, before moving behind his desk and sitting down.

"Look, I... I've been wanting to talk to you for a couple weeks now" Gregson began, his voice calm yet confident, like a father who called his son in from another room to tell him something important. Sherlock was curious, although he had already guessed the nature of this conversation. "It's about Miss Watson" he stated simply, lacing his fingers together and placing them on his desk. Sherlock nodded amiably, waiting patiently for him to continue. "Look, I know you and Joan are... are going through an interesting time right now, and it can't be easy for either of you. I just wanted to let you know that, if you need anything, either of you, that I wanna be the first guy you go to." Sherlock looked up with interest, his eyes surveying the Captain curiously. He had been expecting to be rebuked, urged to take better care of Joan, told to change in some way. But he hadn't been. Instead, Captain Gregson was offering him his unconditional support. And Sherlock had no idea how to react. "I know you're both close, and that things are changing and developing very quickly. With your relationship, and now the baby. But I have complete confidence in you both. And I hope you guys do too. You're both smart, highly-skilled and highly capable people, and your combined skills and experience will make you wonderful parents. That is without question." He paused for a moment, meeting Sherlock's glassy expression. "I know that you don't find this stuff easy. Talking. Especially on this kinda level. And I know that this situation is unlike anything you have ever faced before. But you are not alone, Sherlock, I assure you. I remember when my wife found out she was pregnant, I was terrified. I was nervous. I had no idea what to do or whether what I was doing was right. But as long as you love and support Joan and the baby, which I know you can, you have no reason to question yourself. Because despite being eccentric, self-absorbed and a bit of a know-it-all, you are the most intelligent, capable and conscientious person I know. And despite how unexpected and how frightening this situation may seem to you, you will be alright, and it will be another thing that you excel at. I know it, and so does Joan. I just want you to be aware of it too. And I also want you to know that if there is anything you need, either of you, anything at all, then I want you to know you can come to me. Always. Any time, for any reason. And that's something I wanted you to know too." Gregson leaned back slowly as he finished talking, and the room was silent for a few minutes.

Sherlock was sat in the seat on the opposite side of the desk, his head slightly bowed, his hands resting on his knees. He shifted back in his seat before looking slowly up at Gregson, who was watching him with expectant, nervous eyes. "Thank you, Captain" he began, his tone earnest and sincere. "I assure you that I will ensure that Miss Watson and our child have-"

"You don't have to hide it, Sherlock. Not in here, not in front of me." Gregson continued, moving forward in his seat and placing his clasped hands upon the table. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in confusion. "You don't have to shroud your feelings in formal speech and generous gestures. I know you adore that woman, Holmes, I can tell. Now, whether that is romantic or not, I don't know. I'm not the one to say. But don't hide how you feel about her, how you feel about the child she is carrying, in some attempt to shield or protect her. She has lived with you for two years, she knows you, she understands you, and she accepts you for who you are and what you are. She is a strong and capable woman, Sherlock. Stronger than you realise, I think. Although, of course, she does need additional support now. But this doesn't change the fact that she can handle this. She can handle whatever it is that you're concerned about, whatever it is that is going on between you both. But you need to be straight with her." Sherlock watched the Captain as he spoke, and nodded accordingly at the end of his speech.

"You are right, Captain. I am not good at discussing these subjects. Watson has enough on her plate at the moment, without me complicating it further. I will not risk her happiness or her well-being for my own gain. I-"

"You would not be risking that, Sherlock, believe me. And it isn't for your own gain. It is for both of you, to help you understand, to help you figure things out. And once that is done, and dealt with, you will be even more prepared to welcome your baby into the world. And trust me, Sherlock, there is absolutely nothing that can prepare you for that feeling. It is just... it's incredible." Sherlock inhaled deeply and nodded, before rising from his seat. "Look, I'm sorry if you feel ambushed, or as if I am involving myself in something that doesn't concern me, isn't my business. But you're not the only one who can make deductions, Sherlock. And as I am sure you are aware, the conclusions you do come to are not always completely correct. Discussing them with others has and will help you to figure things out. And as the person who usually helps you with this is the person you haven't spoken to about it, despite her being the person you need to talk to the most, I thought I should... assist you."

Sherlock smiled wryly, looking up towards Gregson. "Interested in an apprenticeship are we, Captain?" he quipped, looking down to the ground. "Thank you." Before Gregson could respond, there was a gentle tapping at the door, before Detective Bell entered the room.

"Sorry to interrupt, Captain, but the scene has been completely run over, and we can now go there with Holmes and Miss Watson." Gregson nodded, and he and Sherlock walked from the room to join Bell and Joan, who were waiting expectantly. Joan was leaning against the wall, holding her red jacket across her arms, and moved slowly forward to join Sherlock, Gregson and Bell as they approached her. Bell explained that he had just received a phone call from the detective at the scene, confirming that the bank was now free for the perusal of Sherlock and Joan. They agreed that they would travel there immediately, and Gregson and Bell led the way, with Sherlock and Joan following behind. It took less than ten minutes to arrive at the scene, which was one of ghostliness and abandonment.

The bank was located on the corner of a street on the Upper West side, with the front of the building appearing to be in a triangular shape. The huge iron doors in the centre were wide open, guarded by two armed police officers, and the black paint of the front of the building was scratched and damaged by the impact of the broken glass from the two large windows, which had been shattered in a hail of bullets. Large pieces of thick, reflective glass lay scattered across the pavement, causing the ten meters around the crime scene to be taped off, and prohibited to the public. As she got out of the car, Joan stared up at this scene of destruction and utter desolation. The building seemed to be oddly out of place, and its current state seemed almost unreal when considering the beauty of the surrounding architecture, the cleanness of the streets, and the orderliness of the life which was continuing around the ruin. The building reminded Joan of the time when she was resting on the roof, eating toast on a beautiful, warm summer's day last year, when some of Sherlock's bees escaped, and chased her angrily, rushing around her in a frenzy whilst trying to relieve her of her food. She had the same feeling of discomfort, unease and oppression. She sighed deeply as she looked at the building, unable to comprehend the fear and uncertainty experienced by the individuals who had been inside just hours before. Her thoughts then went to the murdered security guard. From the ME's report she discussed with Bell, she knew that he had been shot once in the right shoulder, and once in the heart. He would have bled out quite quickly, so she consoled herself with the knowledge that he had not suffered for a prolonged period of time. She certainly hoped he hadn't. She was drawn from her thoughts by Sherlock, who was standing by her side and speaking her name gently. She acknowledged him quickly, and followed him behind the police towards the building.

The officers at the door exchanged a few words with Gregson, before allowing the four people into the building. The sound of glass crunching beneath their feet was the only sound which permeated the now deserted bank, which was in relative darkness. The main help desk was directly opposite the entrance, with a series of kiosks and private rooms to the left and right, which were surrounded by lines of expensively upholstered furniture and expensive modern artwork. To the immediate right of the desk was a door, which was made of a dark and heavy wood, and contained a trio of bullet holes. Through this room was the scene of interest: the location in which the safety deposit boxes were stored, and where the security guard had been shot. Gregson and Bell walked slowly towards this door, with the latter explaining the events of just a few hours ago.

"At approximately 11.42am this morning, three armed men, dressed all in black and wearing ski masks, entered the building. There were four tellers, a manager, deputy manager and security guard present at the time, as well as around a dozen customers. The information we have on the men is pretty vague, but from witness testimonies and CCTV footage we can confirm that all three were male, between the ages of approximately 25 and 50, and between the heights of 5'8 and 6'1." Detective Bell paused for a moment, casting a glance back at Sherlock and Watson, before continuing. "The men entered at the same time, arriving in what we now know to be a medium-sized white van, which was reported stolen five hours before the fact. The first man entered and ordered the employees and hostages to remain quiet, threatening them with his gun, and demanding that they all got down on the ground. The second man made his way behind the main desk, and began to tamper with the large computer in the centre. It looks as if he was trying to hack into the bank's client files, but we can't be sure until the tech guys have been over it completely, which will take another hour or so. The third man, who shot the security guard, made straight for this room" Bell paused, standing just outside the doorway, and turning to face the others. "He came inside, and was joined by man number two shortly after. Man two then left, and returned to the computer, and the third man began opening the security deposit boxes, placing their contents inside his clothing. The confidential files were contained in a small hard copy, three A4 sheets, and two memory sticks, which was what was in each of the three ransacked boxes. Shortly after this, the security guard, who had been kneeling by the door, approached this room, and attempted to disarm the third man. Witnesses report hearing two gunshots, before the third man ran from the room brandishing a gun, ordered the others to leave, and they departed. This all occurred in less than ten minutes. No hostages were harmed, and one of the tellers was able to activate the emergency button beneath her kiosk, so we arrived here a few minutes after the men left." Sherlock and Joan nodded, as Captain Gregson turned and pushed the door open, and the four people entered.

The room was a reasonable size, much larger than Sherlock and Joan had expected. The walls to the left, right and back of the room were lined with towers of locked security boxes, with three notably missing from the back wall, their empty cases lined up on one of the tables in the middle of the room. To the immediately right of the door was a large pool of deep red blood, as well as some blood spatter against the back of the door, which also covered some of the security boxes. Joan tensed at the sight, before moving slowly into the room and walking around it with caution.

"Was the security guard armed?" Sherlock asked, staring at the pool of blood.

"Yeah, he had a standard issue 9mm, which was in his hand as he died." Gregson replied solemnly. "It doesn't look as if he managed to get a shot off. His assailant used a .45, ballistics are working on the trajectory. One of the bullets was a through-and-through, passing through his shoulder and landing in the door." Sherlock and Joan turned and examined the door, and their attention was immediately drawn to a large hole in the centre of the blood spatter, where the bullet had recently been extracted. "That bullet is being analysed by ballistics, who are seeing if the gun that fired it is in the system. It's pretty bashed up, though, as you can imagine. We are hoping that the second bullet, which lodged in his heart, will give us more to go on. The ME has prioritised this case, and should have completed the autopsy by seven o'clock this evening. We'll know more then." Joan nodded, staring at the door for a few more moments, before moving past Sherlock and walking towards the table where the empty boxes lay.

"Have these been tested for prints?" She asked, looking up from the desks towards Detective Bell.

"Yeah, we pulled some, but they could be the manager's, client's, an employee's. Besides, the men were all wearing black leather gloves as they entered." Bell responded, before looking back towards his notes.

"I understand, but the surface material of these boxes is shiny and incredibly smooth. They may have been difficult to prise from their tight positions within the wall space by someone wearing gloves." She began, walking back towards the men, who were all staring up at her. "He was in a rush, he was panicked, people were probably crying or shouting. He could have removed his gloves to abstract the box without even thinking about it, or considering the future implications." Sherlock and Gregson nodded, the former smiling at Joan warmly.

"An excellent deduction, Watson, which should be simple enough to prove." She nodded, grateful for the acknowledgement, before standing near the door and staring curiously around the room. Her eyes fell on the bloodstained floor. The fact that the bullet landed in the door itself confirmed her previous suspicions that the man was shot once in the shoulder first, before then being shot in the abdomen. She could not take her mind off the wounded man, dying performing his duty. Her thoughts drifted to his family, to the wife who would not see her husband again, the children whose father had been taken from them. She found herself crossing her arms, holding them tightly and protectively against her stomach. The world was such a dangerous place.

"Do you have any more knowledge of the exact contents of the boxes?" Sherlock asked, his hands behind him as he leaned back on the heels of his feet.

"No, not yet" responded Gregson, shifting in his position. "A representative for Jackson and Meade just told me that the boxes contained private and confidential material pertaining to the medical status of some of their clients, who they would notify. After the notifications, they will ask whether any of the clients consent to their names being given to us, at which point we will interview them. The representative assured me that he would call me back by nine o'clock tonight, after meeting with his employers and discussing the amount of information they are able to disclose. Until then, our job remains somewhere between extremely difficult and practically impossible."

"I wouldn't be so sure, Captain." Sherlock responded, shifting back on his feet before meeting Gregson's gaze. "The fact that these men knew the layout of the bank, and each had a specific role which was tailored to them and completely with efficiency, suggests that they had previous knowledge of the layout of the bank. The second man, the computer expert, is of particular interest. Penetrating the security system of any bank is difficult, but considering the reputation and clientèle of this one, it is remarkable that the technology was accessed by an outsider, especially within minutes." He paused, looking at Gregson with excited eyes. "Captain, I think we have to consider the possibility that someone within the bank was involved in this robbery."

Before Gregson could respond, his phone rang in his pocket. He closed his small, leather-bound notebook and removed his phone from his pocket and answered it. His eyes grew large, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, looking up at Sherlock and Joan as he responded cordially to the person on the other end of the phone, before hanging up.

"That was a detective in the precinct, who has just received a call summoning him to an address less than five minutes from here" he began, placing the phone back in his pocket. "Another bank has just been robbed, same men, same MO, same theft. One of the suspects was shot in the shoulder by an off-duty police officer who was in the bank, but they escaped. And they took a hostage."


	15. Chapter 15

Within minutes of receiving the phone call, Gregson, Bell, Sherlock and Joan were in their cars and heading towards the second crime scene, which was just a few blocks away. When they arrived at the scene, they found the atmosphere to be much different from the crime scene they had just left. Whereas the primary scene was eerily quiet despite its destruction, this site was a scene of terror and panic. The bank was of a similar size to the previous one, and displayed the same signs of destruction as the primary scene. The windows were shattered, shards of glass littered the floor, and pieces of broken material and fallen letters from the bank's name had fallen to the ground. The streets were not deserted and the scene was not taped off. Instead, there was a large police presence, with officers trying to prevent people from approaching the building, comforting frightened citizens, and holding back individuals fighting to get into the building to see if their relatives or co-workers were alright. The bank had not yet been secured, and although the three men and their hostage had already left, there were still almost a dozen people inside the bank.

Gregson and Bell got out of their car first, and rushed towards the entrance, flashing their badges at civilians and police officers as they made their way towards the building. Sherlock and Joan followed behind cautiously, carefully navigating their way through broken items, various pieces of debris, and frightened civilians. Gregson and Bell exchanged a few words with the police officers outside the front entrance, before walking confidently inside. Sherlock and Joan reached the entrance shortly afterwards, and were permitted through by Captain Gregson. As soon as they passed through the threshold, the sound of sobbing individuals, concerned and angry tones, and attempts to leave the building filled the room. The interior of the bank appeared to be almost virtually unaffected, and it had a layout almost virtually identical to the previous bank. Sherlock walked towards Gregson and Bell, who were being debriefed by two police officers, one of whom had just successfully prevented a middle-aged man in an expensive bespoke suit from storming angrily from the building. Before Sherlock reached Gregson and Bell, he became aware of the fact that the sound of Joan's heels gently tapping the polished floor could no longer be heard. He turned around instantly, his eyes surveying the scene with eager anticipation bordering on concern, until he spotted her just to the right of the door. Her back was towards him, and he could see that she had her right arm raised, and was resting her hand comfortingly upon the shoulder of a sobbing woman holding a child. Sherlock's brows knitted in confusion, and he walked briskly over to the scene.

Upon entering the building, Joan had heard the traumatised crying of a young woman, who was standing near the doorway, clutching a two-year-old child close to her chest, running her fingers soothingly through her hair. She felt instantly drawn to this woman. There was something about her, something about the way she was standing, that told Joan that she needed someone urgently. She had been hidden from the immediate view of the police, and had not been seen to yet, due to the violence and disruption caused by several other patrons within the vicinity. Joan looked ahead of her and saw Sherlock walking towards Gregson and Bell and, without a moment's thought, turned instantly on her heels and walked back towards the young woman and child, approaching them slowly and cautiously, before speaking in a gentle and comforting tone.

"Miss?" she began gently, tilting her head to the side as she slowly approached the crying woman. "Miss, are you alright?"

The young woman looked up, her deep brown eyes shining with a combination of fear and tears. She instinctively clutched the child closer to her chest, and placed her hand protectively on the back of her neck, caressing her soft, chestnut curls. She was still crying, but not so vocally or as fearfully as before, and she looked confusedly into Joan's warm and sympathetic eyes.

"My name is Joan, I work with the police" she began, offering the woman a small smile. "Are you alright? You seem very distressed."

The young woman sighed, breathed in deeply and took a step towards Joan. She shifted her hold on her child, moving her so that her head was resting on her right shoulder, and she stared at Joan with curiosity. "Yes, I... I'm sorry I just-" she clasped her free hand over her mouth and fought back the sobs. Joan placed her hand comfortingly upon her left shoulder, and spoke to her gently.

"Hey, it's alright, it's okay, it's okay. It's over now, you're safe, I promise you." The young woman seemed to be listening to her, and Joan felt her relax slightly under her gentle grip. "There are some seats behind us, why don't we sit you both down, and we can talk, okay?" The young woman looked up at Joan and nodded, turning on the spot as Joan led her to some vacant seats to the right of the door. At this moment, Joan heard the familiar sound of Sherlock's footsteps approaching her from behind.

"Watson, is everything alright?" he asked in a low tone, clearly concerned about further distressing the traumatised woman in the seat.

Joan eased the woman into a vacant seat, as she clutched her child protectively to her chest. Joan sat down in the seat next to her, before looking up to Sherlock and responding to his question. "Everything's fine. This lady just needs some help, that's all."

"Melinda" came a low, shaken voice from the seat next to Joan. "My name is Melinda, Melinda Carter." Joan turned her attention back to the woman, who had now adjusted her hold on her child, who was now sitting on her lap and facing forwards. She was a little girl of about two years of age, with beautiful chestnut curls and deep brown eyes like her mother's. She had delicate features and was incredibly beautiful. She looked from Joan to Sherlock with curiosity, before turning her head to face her mother, and reaching up, placing a hand upon her chin, which her mother kissed tenderly. "And this is Amy."

Joan smiled warmly at Melinda, then turned her attention to Amy, greeting her kindly. Sherlock took a few steps forward, not wishing to intrude, until he was standing about two feet in front of Joan. "Is there anything we can do to help you, Miss Carter?" Sherlock asked tentatively.

"Mrs. Mrs Carter. But please call me Melinda" the young woman smiled, looking up gratefully from Joan to Sherlock. "Thank you both, you're incredibly kind. I'm so sorry, I'm not usually like this, it's just-"

"You have no reason to apologise, Melinda. You've been through a terrible ordeal. Both of you have" Joan responded kindly, placing a reassuring hand back on Melinda's shoulder. The young woman tilted her head downwards, smiled nervously, and then turned back to face Joan.

"It was awful, I... when they came in I grabbed Amy and hid just here" she stated, using her head to indicate a space behind a small statue near the front entrance. "But he found us, he came straight for us, and he grabbed Amy and I-"

"I'm sorry, Melinda, did you say that one of the men approached you directly, and tried to take your child?" Sherlock asked, his voice gentle and calm, as he took a few steps closer to the frightened woman, who looked up at him imploringly.

"Yes... yes, he... he looked around, saw me, and walked right up to me. I was holding Amy in my arms, but he came straight at me" her breathing was becoming difficult, and she was sobbing gently as she spoke. Joan moved closer, attempting to soothe her, speaking words of kindness and encouragement when she found it difficult to speak. This seemed to calm her markedly, and she continued speaking in a much more confident and assured tone than before. "One of the men was by the desk, and the other went through a door on the other side of the room. But this man, he, he just stood at the front, looking at us all. I was hiding, but he found me. When he saw me, his head lifted slightly, and he walked straight over. When he got close to me, he demanded my car keys. I froze, I just... he had a gun in a holster, and I... I froze." She paused briefly, pursing her lips together and stroking Amy's hair, before continuing as confidently as before. "After a few seconds, he repeated himself, and then immediately stepped closer towards me and put his hands on Amy. He wrenched her from my arms-" her voice broke off and she began to cry once more. Joan moved closer to her, wrapping her arm across her back and drawing her close. After a few moments, Melinda breathed in deeply and slowly moved away from Joan, smiling politely at her, before continuing. "He was holding her, and I screamed. She was struggling in his arms, trying to reach for me, but he wouldn't... he just held her. He turned slightly, and then we heard the sirens. He was distracted, and I was able to grab Amy. He looked towards me, his eyes were furious. Then the sound of the sirens got closer, and he ran. I held Amy close to me and hid here. I heard a gun shot shortly afterwards." She stopped talking, running her hands through her daughter's hair once more.

Sherlock and Joan exchanged puzzled looks, neither of them understanding the reason for such an action. Joan and Sherlock's eyes met, and they stared at each other for a moment, sharing the same thought: imagine if this had happened to us.

"Melinda, is it possible that he grabbed your daughter after he heard the sirens? And was planning on using her as a hostage?" Sherlock asked gently, leaning back slightly on his heels.

Melinda shook her head rapidly. "No, no it's not. The sirens came after, I am sure. He asked for my keys, then just grabbed her. I... I don't know why, I just... I don't know." she sighed, staring towards the ground. As she did so, Amy squirmed restlessly in her arms, leaning towards Joan, and reaching for her hair. Melinda looked up, fear in her eyes, but relaxed once she saw her daughter smiling at Joan. "She seems to like you" she smiled, feeling once more at ease. Joan had an incredibly kind and reassuring presence. Joan smiled back at her, placing a hand gently upon the little girl's tear-stained cheek.

"I was a doctor before I began consulting. Would it be alright if I check Amy over? Just as a precaution." Joan spoke confidently and warmly, causing Melinda to nod rapidly. Joan moved out of her seat and knelt in front of Melinda, drawing Amy's attention towards her and looking her over. She began with her face and neck, before looking at her arms, then moving towards her hands. When she reached the little girl's right hand, she saw that her first was clenched, and something golden was peeking through two of her fingers.

"Hey, sweetheart, what do you have here?" she spoke gently and kindly, in a voice that took Sherlock's breath away. He watched her with wonder as she quickly gained the little girl's confidence and trust, and gently prised her fingers apart, removing an object from her hands. "It's a gold chain with a pendant on it" Joan said, curiosity and confusion in her voice, "is it yours?" she asked Melinda, who was staring at her daughter in surprise.

"No, no I... I don't wear gold. That's not mine, I don't... it must be his" she stated, averting her gaze from the jewellery.

Sherlock approached Joan from behind, and she passed him the necklace. It was a thin, golden chain with a crucifix attached. As Joan passed the item to him, she noticed the curious way he was watching Amy. He seemed to be studying her with interest, and if Joan did not know any better, she would say that he was amazed and highly intrigued at the small child. Sherlock noticed her curious glances and returned his attention to the necklace, which he studied it with interest, before placing it in an evidence bag which he drew from his pocket, and passing it to Captain Gregson, who had just approached the scene. Joan turned back towards Melinda and Amy, drawing the mother's attention towards her.

"Okay, Melinda, your daughter is fine, alright? She is perfectly healthy. And she even managed to take an important piece of evidence from one of the armed robbers, which may help us to identify them. We can check the necklace for DNA and fingerprints." She smiled at Melinda warmly before turning to Gregson, who had just been debriefed on the situation by Sherlock, and was staring at mother and daughter with curiosity. "Captain, as this man seemed to take such an interest in Mrs Carter and her daughter, for a reason we don't yet understand, I think they should be placed into protective custody. Would that be possible?"

Gregson looked approvingly at Joan before turning towards Melinda, and walking towards her slowly. "Mrs Carter, I agree with Miss Watson. Although the immediate danger is over, I believe you and your daughter would be safer in our custody. I know this is difficult, and I know you are frightened, but I want you to be assured that we will take care of you both. And this is not forever, just until we find the people we are looking for. Which, thanks to your daughter, is gonna be sooner rather than later." Melinda looked from Joan to Gregson with curious yet terrified eyes, before glancing back towards her daughter and drawing her close, planting a gentle kiss upon her forehead.

"If it is the best way to keep Amy safe, then yes... yes, I will come with you." Her voice maintained its earlier confidence but was slightly lower than usual, causing Joan to turn towards her and smile reassuringly.

"It's alright, Melinda. Captain Gregson has arranged this type of thing before, and he has experienced officers who can help you both, alright?" She smiled warmly, placing her hand comfortingly upon her shoulder. Melinda still felt tense, and Joan could feel her shaking slightly beneath her touch. "Would you like me to come with you? To help you gather some things and get settled?" Melinda looked up immediately, her eyes widening at the offer, before nodding. She smiled warmly, thanking Joan as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. Joan assured her it was no problem, and that she was happy to help her. They both stood up, and Joan turned slowly to face Sherlock. "If you just go with Captain Gregson, he will take you to a car. I'll be there in just a minute." Melinda smiled, nodding as she adjusted her hold on Amy, and walked slowly with Gregson from the building, the latter placing his hand comfortingly in the middle of her back as he led her towards his car. Joan turned towards Sherlock, who was looking at her warmly.

"Remarkable, Watson. You never cease to amaze me." 

"What?" She asked, smiling through the confusion.

"You saw that woman's distress, and your kindness and consideration for her not only helped her on a personal level, but also in relation to our case. You helped to uncover a vital piece of evidence which could help us to solve this case and save the hostage. All because you took the time to care for a woman in distress, and in desperate need of help. More help than she realised." He spoke kindly and with conviction, his wide eyes watching her with amazement.

"She needed help, that's what we do, isn't it? Solve cases, help the people. It's our job" she spoke modestly, smiling at Sherlock's bashfulness as he reflected upon his words. "Besides, it is Amy who recovered the evidence, not me. You should pass on your congratulations to your future toddler apprentice." She smiled warmly at him, and he returned her glance. "Anyway, I need to get going, we should really get Melinda and Amy out of here. I shouldn't be more than a couple of hours, and I can meet you either at home or at the precinct. Okay?" Sherlock nodded, telling her to be careful, before assuring her he would see her soon. She nodded, before leaving the bank and walking towards Gregson's car. She travelled with Melinda and Amy to Melinda's apartment, which Gregson checked over with another officer, before packing some items and being driven to a safe location. Joan accompanied her, helping her to settle in to her new temporary apartment, introducing her to the two officers who would be protecting her, and remaining there for an hour or so. They discussed many things, including Melinda's career as a teacher, her current divorce, and the reasons for her being at the bank that morning. After another thirty minutes or so, Joan left the apartment, but not before giving Melinda her personal contact details, and imploring her to contact her at any time, for any reason. She was driven from this location by Captain Gregson, who took her to the precinct, where Sherlock had been waiting as he reviewed the evidence and current case files.

It had been just over three hours since they had last seen each other, but to Joan it felt like much longer. The moment she saw him, she realised how much she had missed him. She was also struck by the realisation of how tired she was. She walked slowly towards Sherlock, who was sat at an empty desk near Detective Bell, and was surrounded by files. He heard her footsteps and immediately looked up, his face containing an expression which reminded her of the sad look a puppy gives to its owner after they return from a long day at work. She strolled over towards him, her whole body aching, her limbs feeling heavy. She folded her arms and drew them to her chest as she leaned against the desk where he was sitting, and looked at him intently. "So how is it going? Find anything useful?"

Sherlock watched her for a few moments, correctly deducing her overwhelming exhaustion, but decided against mentioning it immediately, knowing that she would avoid and deny the subject until they had discussed the case. "The technicians are still going over the computer history from both robberies, which is turning out to be much more complicated than they had initially anticipated. The CCTV footage has been studied, and reveals nothing of interest, apparently, although I have not had a chance to review it yet. But Captain Gregson has very kindly burned us a couple of copies, which should make for an interesting night-time movie." He paused, allowing Joan time to absorb his words. She nodded tiredly, adjusting her arms slightly and shifting her position, clearly battling to keep herself awake. "And as there was a lot of evidence collected from both scenes, the golden trinket you helped to find has yet to be processed, despite my strongest arguments that it should be viewed as a priority." Sherlock leaned forward slightly, running his hands over his face and forehead, before leaning back in his seat. "I have hard copies of each of all of the files, statements and evidence reports in relation to both robberies, as well as copies of the CCTV footage from inside both banks, and from several stores and other properties surrounding both locations. I think we would be more able to absorb the information and consider the evidence if we were to peruse it in the brownstone. Is that acceptable?" he asked, hoping to draw her back to their home, and encourage her to rest. To his relief, she nodded slowly, easing herself off the side of the desk and moving to meet him as he stood. They both gathered up the files, photographs and other materials on the desk, said their goodbyes, and left the precinct.

Sherlock and Joan entered the brownstone shortly after seven o'clock in the evening. Joan carried some of the files through to the living area, deposited them on one of the desks, and carried a few over to the couch. She had never felt so exhausted before. She sank back into the depths of the couch, the soft material comforting her aching limbs and tangled thoughts. Her mind was full of thoughts relating to the case, Melinda and Amy, Sherlock and the baby. She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning back as she relinquished her grip on the half dozen files in her lap, causing them to fall to the ground. She opened her eyes slowly after hearing the rustling of paper and crinkling of cardboard, leaning forward slowly to pick up the files. Sherlock entered the room just after she had gathered and re-arranged the papers, and he walked towards her with a hot cup of tea. She thanked him, placing the files on the couch before sipping the tea. It revitalised her, and made her feel more awake and more relaxed. She closed her eyes in satisfaction, before opening them once more and watching as Sherlock placed a memory stick into his laptop, and placed it on the desk. Sherlock and Joan watched the CCTV footage of both banks and some from the surrounding shops and businesses. They were staring at the screen for almost three hours, and learned precious little of interest or significance. Sighing, Joan leaned on her arm which was resting on the arm of the couch, and closed her eyes slowly. A few moments later, Sherlock's voice drew her from her slumber.

"Watson, Watson" he called gently, pausing the CCTV footage. "You've been working for hours, you're tired and you're worn out. Why don't you get some rest, and we will review this in the morning?" Joan was too tired to argue, and far too exhausted to resist. She mumbled her assent and gently eased herself from the sofa, walking tiredly towards the doorway. She turned back and met Sherlock's concerned stare, offering him a weary smile, mumbling 'goodnight', and walking up the stairs and towards her room. Sherlock waited until he heard Joan's bedroom door close firmly behind her, before he rose from his seat and crossed the room towards the bookcase by the window. He climbed the ladder and abstracted the book he used as a hiding place, opening it up and removing the contents. He climbed slowly down the ladder and crossed the room back to his armchair, where he remained for the next few hours, immersed in the item he had just collected.

As soon as Joan reached her bedroom door, she felt her limbs grow heavier and heavier with anticipation. She walked into her room and closed the door slowly behind her, before turning and staring longingly at her bed. The sight of the warm blankets and comfortable pillows made her feel as though she could fall asleep in the position she was in currently, standing upright whilst holding her bag and jacket. She took a few steps forward and felt overwhelmed with exhaustion. She reached the edge of her bed and placed her bag and jacket on a chair to the left of her bedside table, before kicking off her boots and pulling her white dress from over her head. She reached under her pillow and pulled out a large, dark blue, baggy shirt, which she pulled on carefully before moving the blankets aside. As she eased herself into her bed, she wrapped her blankets closely around her, and was asleep moments before her head hit the pillow.

Joan's eyes opened suddenly, and she turned in her bed to the table to her left, which contained her clock. The time was three o'clock in the morning, meaning that she had been asleep for less than four hours. She sighed tiredly, placing one hand over her eyes, before racking her brain for the reason why she had awoken. At that very moment, she felt a strong pang of hunger, and sat upright in her bed. She looked at the clock by her side once more, did a few calculations in her head, and realised that she had not eaten in fourteen hours. She mentally chastised herself, before tossing aside her blankets and planting her feet firmly upon the cold, smooth floor, and eased herself slowly out of bed. Considering she had had so little sleep, she felt remarkably awake and alert. She stretched out her arms and walked slowly towards the door, openly it carefully and gradually, hoping that she would not wake Sherlock. Joan crept slowly down the stairs, running her fingers down the bannister as she did so, before walking silently through the foyer. She was about to turn left at the bottom of the staircase and walk directly to the kitchen, when she noticed that there were a few lights on in the living area. She frowned with concern, before slowly walking towards the entrance to the living room. As she reached the entrance, she placed one hand on the door frame and peered inside, and was surprised to see Sherlock sitting in his armchair, leaning forward and engrossed in a book. He was so completely absorbed in whatever it was that he was reading that he did not notice her enter the room, and was drawn from the text only when she called his name gently. "Sherlock?" she asked gently, tilting her head to the side.

Sherlock looked up from his book and stared towards the doorway, dropping the book on the floor as he noticed Joan's silhouette as she moved elegantly into the room. The thick blue shirt she was wearing suited her wonderfully, and her dark hair fell over it gently, curling slightly at the bottom. She watched him with confusion as he leaned down to retrieve his book.

"Sherlock, what is it?" she asked, moving towards him. "Are you alright?"

Sherlock picked up the book and placed it on his lap, face down. Joan noticed this immediately, and stopped in her steps. She remained standing a few feet away from him, the soft light of the lamps behind her highlighting her figure. As Sherlock looked up towards her, he was struck by how much she reminded him of an angel. She had a notable ethereal presence that evening, as she did on most evenings. To Sherlock, at least.

"Watson, you startled me" Sherlock replied tiredly, in a melancholy tone. "Yes, yes I am fine." he looked towards her and offered her a small smile, before turning his head away from her and staring straight ahead, placing one hand over the cover of the book.

Joan watched him with curiosity and concern, uncertain of the best way to talk to him. After a few moments, she decided that she needed to be confident and direct, as that was the most likely way to reassure him and make him feel comfortable enough to open up to her. He clearly needed to talk, and she was always willing to listen. She took a few steps towards him until she was standing so close that their knees touched, causing him to look up towards her, concern swimming in his eyes. "What are you reading?" she asked casually, her tone sweet and comforting. Sherlock watched her for a few moments, considering his options, before recollecting Captain Gregson's words, and his urging him to open up to Joan. At that moment, all his words and most of his thoughts escaped him. He reached into his lap, picked up the book, and passed it to Joan.

She accepted it, gently easing it from his hands, and turning it over so she could read the front cover. As soon as she read the title, confusion and surprise crossed her face, and she smiled. The book was a well-known medical and psychological text relating to infant development during the first twelve months of life. Judging by the newness of the cover but the condition of the pages, it appeared that Sherlock had been reading and re-reading this book on a regular basis. She moved the book around in her hands, before kneeling down in front of Sherlock, and placing the book on the floor by her side. She looked up, and found that he was staring past her, gazing thoughtlessly out of the window.

"Would you like to talk about it?" she asked gently, looking up at him as he moved his attention from the window to her face.

"Talk about what, exactly, Watson?" he asked, embarrassment and concern flooding his voice.

Joan smiled at him warmly, before reaching down and picking up the book and placing it on the arm of his chair. "Why do you feel the need to hide this, Sherlock? What is so wrong about wanting to read up on this, to understand it?"

"That's just the point, Watson, I'm worried I won't be able to." He replied sadly, struggling to meet her gaze.

Joan tilted her head to the side, and watched him curiously. "What do you feel you won't be able to do?" she asked tentatively, her voice filled with warmth and comfort, reassuring Sherlock temporarily.

"Understand it. Any of it" he began, entwining his fingers before meeting her gaze with fear and anguish. "Understanding the... understanding our child." Joan watched him for a moment, resting a hand on the side of the armchair, and waiting patiently for him to continue. "I... I am not good with, with this, Watson, and I... I don't want to make a mistake. And the best way to not make a mistake is to understand what is likely to lead to an error occurring. Which, in itself, involves acquiring an encyclopaedic knowledge of infants and their needs and development." He paused for a moment, chewing his lip slightly, before continuing to speak. "I pride myself on knowing facts, on understanding behaviour, on being prepared for almost any eventuality. But I worried that this is one that I am woefully ill-equipped to deal with. And that thought frightens me." He looked from Joan's face to his own hands, and began nervously tapping his fingers on the side of his hand.

Joan lifted her hand from the side of the armchair and placed it over his own, which drew his attention immediately towards her face. "I understand, Sherlock" she began, looking at him with bright, intelligent eyes. "I really do. This is new, for both of us. It is frightening, it is confusing, and it is a whole new journey which, until very recently, we were not aware that we would be embarking upon." She paused for a moment, allowing her words to take effect. "But here we are. And look at what we've done so far, look at how well we have done. We've discussed the baby, we've made plans for our child's safety and well-being, and we are continuing to figure things out. I know that you're frightened, I am too. But you aren't alone, Sherlock" she squeezed his hand tightly, and looked up into his eyes. "And neither am I. We can help each other, and we will help each other. But to do that, we need to be open and honest, and talk about these things. You know you can tell me anything, don't you? Ask me anything, tell me anything, no matter how hard you think it may be for me to hear. I will always listen, and I will always want to help you."

Sherlock was silent for several moments, and drew his gaze from her face and towards the fireplace, focusing on the burning embers at the bottom of the grate. "You'll make a wonderful mother, Watson, truly. You will be simply outstanding." He spoke solemnly but with great confidence, and he turned himself towards her as she squeezed his hand once more.

"Thanks" she mumbled, blushing slightly. "I only wish that you would believe me when I tell you that I think the exact same about you." She spoke kindly and in a low, quiet voice.

"You think I'll be a good mother?" he asked, levity clear in his tone. Joan smiled slightly, playfully tapping his hands with her own, before meeting his gaze.

"I re-arranged my doctor's appointment, it will be in a couple of weeks, the 28th. Will you still come with me?"

"I would be honoured, Watson" he began, running his fingers up hers, and spreading their fingers apart as he reached their fingertips. "Thank you."

Joan smiled warmly, before removing her hand from his and picking up the book from the ground. "You don't have to thank me, Sherlock" she stated warmly, as she began to flick through the book, stopping as she came to a certain chapter. "Would you talk me through this? I'd love to know your thoughts." Sherlock looked at her with interest, before gazing down at the chapter she had selected, and beginning a conversation. They sat next to each other for the entire night, flicking through the book and discussing all of its aspects, all of their concerns, and all of their worries. By the time the morning light flooded through the windows a few hours later, they were both wide awake, relaxed and smiling, as they talked about their child's impending arrival.


	16. Chapter 16

The next two weeks passed quickly, with mixed progress being made on the case. The CCTV footage and witness statements from both scenes confirmed that the crimes were identical, and committed by the same individuals, using the same methodology. One of the three men would enter the building and control the employees and patrons, the other would hack the computer system, and the third would enter the room with the security boxes and remove various articles. In the second robbery two security boxes had been removed, with confidential information from the same private medical company being taken. The only difference was that, as the third man attempted to open the third box, the sound of police sirens flooded the area, causing the robbers to panic. They ran into the main part of the bank, with the third man being shot in the shoulder by a security guard as he fled with the materials. Before leaving the building, the second robber grabbed one of the female tellers, and forced her to accompany them from the building, where they escaped before the police could arrive at the scene.

Sherlock and Joan had been working on the case alongside the police for the past two weeks. During this time, much evidence had been collected and analysed from both scenes. The safety deposit boxes had been examined for fingerprints, and five sets were found. Four of these were identified as belonging to individuals linked to both the bank and the original providers of the boxes, all of whom were looked into and found to be innocent of any involvement. The fifth set could not be identified, despite the police having run them through all known databases. The bullets extracted from the door and the heart of the security guard were examined by the ballistics specialists, and found to belong to a gun which had been bought in Florida three years previously, and reported stolen shortly afterwards. Due to their clothing and masks, the descriptions of the individuals involved in the robbery were not much help at all. Their height was estimated, which helped to tell them apart, but they all had a similar weight and build. Some witness statements relating to the sound of their voices, the scene of cigarettes and coconut oil, as well as a slight stutter in the computer specialist member of the team, provided little consolation. However, information on the second scene was much more useful, and greatly assisted in the clarification and understanding of the crimes, and those involved. It took Sherlock and the police around four days to state and prove that Elissia Carles, the bank teller who was taken hostage, was actually the 'insider man' he had mentioned at the first scene. She had recently left a position at the bank which was robbed first, beginning a new job at the second one, which she had been working at for less than three weeks. A brief perusal of her social media accounts revealed that she had a boyfriend, Jonathan Wiles, whose two brothers Andrew and Simon had both been convicted of various crimes, including theft and burglary. The three men had not been seen since the day before the robberies. Sherlock, Joan and the police were convinced that these were the individuals they were searching for, and sought to prove it. In the meantime, Jackson and Meade, the health company whose files had been taken from both locations, had spent most of the two weeks stonewalling the NYPD, categorically refusing to share any information relating to the material in their safety deposit boxes, or any of their patients. Until a couple of weeks later.

The day before Joan's doctor's appointment, Sherlock received a call from Captain Gregson, informing him that a representative for the health company, Jason Wilkes, had contacted him that morning. Mr Wilkes had stated that the boxes contained information on eight of their patients, whom had all been contacted. Three of those patients wished to reveal their identities and discuss the case with the police, in an attempt to understand why their files were taken, and whether they were compromised. Gregson had told them to come in to the precinct at nine o'clock the next morning, which they agreed to. Joan's appointment was not until eleven, which gave them plenty of time to meet the individuals and discuss events, before leaving for the hospital. Sherlock consulted Joan on the matter, who agreed, and confirmed their attendance to Captain Gregson.

Joan woke up very early the next morning, and a brief glance towards her alarm clock revealed that it was just before six o'clock in the morning. Joan stared at the bright green numbers for a few moments, before closing her eyes tiredly, and pushing herself up in her bed.

"Up already, Watson?" came a familiar voice from the corner. Joan turned towards the chair at the bottom of her bed, pulling her blankets close to her, before sighing in relief.

"Sherlock" she mumbled tiredly, rubbing her eyes with her hands. "What are you going in here?"

"Couldn't sleep." He replied tiredly, watching her in the darkness. "And apparently I'm not the only one. You have been tossing and turning for the past hour." Joan turned on the small lamp on her bedside table before shifting position in the bed, adjusting herself to face Sherlock directly. She had a much clearer view of him now, and his slightly dishevelled hair and light grey shirt revealing that he had barely slept, and had also been tossing and turning. His eyes were tired, yet wide with interest and concern, as he watched her slowly adjust herself to the new light source in the room. Although he was trying to maintain an impassive expression, Joan could see the echoes of fear and concern which lay beneath it. She called his name a couple of times, and after he did not reply, followed the line of his gaze. He was staring at her stomach, which now displayed small yet perceptible signs of her pregnancy, which was accentuated by the fitted light-pink shirt she was wearing.

"If you've been here since a little after four, you can't have slept very much either" she spoke gently, tiredness clear in her voice. "Why was that?"

Sherlock did not respond immediately to her question, his focus shifting from her abdomen to the dawn light, which was streaming through her window. It reminded her of the morning after the night they slept together, when he awoke in her bed, and saw her beautiful figure bathed in natural light. He found himself lost in this thought for a few moments, before replying to her question, his eyes not leaving the window.

"Not sure. Happens occasionally, as I'm sure you're aware. I'm hardly one for regularly sleep patterns." He turned back towards her, flashing her a warm yet artificial smile. She returned it, looking down at her blankets, before raising his head and watching Sherlock intently, her intelligent eyes moving over his body.

"If today is too much for you, if you would rather stay at the precinct whilst I go to the hospital alone, that is completely fi-"

"No, Watson, no, I assure you" he began, leaning forward in his seat, his voice sounding much more alert. He was silent for a few moments, tapping his fingers nervously on the back of his hand, before looking up to meet Joan's curious gaze. "I confess to being... nervous, Watson. But not uninterested or unwilling, and I certainly have no intention or desire to miss this appointment." He paused again, watching with relief as Joan visibly relaxed as he spoke. "I just... this is new to me, Watson. I was thinking about it for most of yesterday and all of last night, and was wondering if you were too, so I came in here to-" he paused abruptly, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes for a few moments. "I don't know. I don't know why I came in."

Joan waited for a few moments, watching as Sherlock looked from his hands to the ground, keeping his head slightly bowed at all times, like a schoolboy sitting outside the headmaster's office.

"It's okay, Sherlock. It's not like it's the first time, is it? I'm sure there are many other times I don't even know about." Sherlock shifted slightly in his seat, and she could see his eyebrows rise slightly. She was not annoyed by his presence in his room, mainly due to the fact that she knew it provided him with some kind of comfort. And by now, she was used to him invading her space and reading her mail. It had annoyed her at first, frustrated her to an incredible degree, but she had come to realise that the inappropriate nature of his actions were not sinister or creepy, but naïve and misguided. He did not intend to cause her unease or discomfort, and he did not. "You should have woken me. I was barely asleep."

"Oh I wouldn't have dreamed of it, Watson" he began, looking up to her, "despite your movement, you appeared to be quite peaceful, content."

Joan waited for a few moments, before pushing her blankets aside and easing herself off the bed, and walking slowly towards him. Sherlock rose from his seat as she approached him, and looked down upon her as the morning light shone across her back, highlighting her figure.

"Why don't we go downstairs, get something to eat, and go over the case files one more time before our meeting?" He nodded rapidly in response. She knew he would be glad of a distraction, and was determined to provide him with one. They spent the next few hours sitting on the cool floor of the living area, surrounding by papers and files, and the sound of a gently crackling fire.

Sherlock and Joan arrived at the precinct shortly before nine, and were met by Detective Bell, who led them towards an interview room. "Okay, so Jason Wilkes got here about ten minutes ago with three of the people whose medical files were stolen in the robberies. They include Rachel Fedori, a CEO of a large retail corporation, New York's DA Paul Revere and a senator and potential presidential candidate called Mitchell Harper. The Captain is with them now." The trio arrived at the room, and Detective Bell opened the door, allowing Sherlock and Joan to pass through first, before joining them and firmly closing it.

Sherlock and Joan surveyed the room briefly, analysing the new and partially unfamiliar faces. In the chari a the far left of the table sat Rachel Fedori, a middle-aged career woman in an expensive bespoke suit, with dangerously high heels and designer glasses. She sat facing her door with her legs crossed, and wore an expression which was a mixture of annoyance and disdain. To her left was sat a man Sherlock and Joan recognised as DA Paul Revere, a well-to-do gentleman in his late sixties with white hair and a beard, who was wearing a charcoal-grey suit and was resting his right hand on a leather case which lay on the table. Beside him sat the man who could only be Mitchell Harper, a senator who was tipped for the presidential run. He was a good-looking, athletic man in his mid forties, with bright blue eyes and a compelling smile. His dark hair was combed back from his face, and his taut body was complemented by the fitted waistcoat he wore over his crisp white shirt. His suit jacket and coat were resting over the back of his chair, and he sat confidently with his hands resting in his lap. He smiled warmly at Joan as she walked into the room. Mr Wilkes was standing behind Miss Fedori, and was looking anxiously from client to client.

Captain Gregson greeted Sherlock and Joan in a pleasant yet official manner, and introduced them to the various members of the room, before drawing a couple of chairs forward and inviting them to sit down. Joan accepted one of the chairs gratefully, placing her bag by her side on the ground, as Sherlock stood behind her. For the next twenty minutes, the police described the case as the understood it, the evidence, and what they knew so far. Their visitors listened intently and with great interest, nodding at intervals and posing the occasional question, until Gregson had told them everything they knew. At least, all that he was at liberty to disclose.

"So you believe you know the identities of the people who stole our files, but not their motivations. You do not know where they are at this time, and you have not recovered the information. Am I right?" Asked Miss Fedori, uncrossing her legs as she leaned forward slightly, staring coldly at Captain Gregson as she spoke.

"Ma'am, we are doing all we can to apprehend the criminals and recover your files. I can assure you, this case is being treated as a matter of urgency." He responded calmly.

"As it should be, Captain" she replied, equally as coldly as she appeared, before crossing her arms and continuing. "This is an absolute travesty. The bank should have been properly protected and secured. What kind of idiots do they have in security, I would like to know. You only have to look at that guard who got himself killed-"

"A man lost his life, Miss Fedori, and a young woman and her child were traumatised" began Sherlock unable to contain his frustration. "I understand your anger, your confidential medical records have been compromised and that is completely unacceptable, but there are people who have been significantly more affected than yourself." Joan pursed her lips. She understood his annoyance, as Miss Fedori had been borderline insufferable, criticising the police and other authorities for this incident. While Joan was sympathetic to the woman whose privacy and confidence had been violated, she was certainly taken aback by her apparent ambivalence to the life lost in the process. Before Miss Fedori had time to respond to Sherlock's reprimand, the DA had begun to speak.

"I heard about that, Mr Holmes, it was awful. That security guard's death is tragic and deeply regrettable. And that poor woman. It was your wife, wasn't it, Harper?" he began, glancing over at the senator, who shifted slightly in his seat and nodded in response. "Charming woman, I recall meeting you both at a fund-raiser my charity were hosting a few years back."

"Melinda Carter is your wife?" asked Joan, turning towards the senator. "That would make Amy your daughter, right?" The senator nodded, his eyes warming at the mention of his daughter.

"Ex-wife, actually" he responded, turning towards Joan to answer her question. "We separated about a year ago, and our divorce was recently finalised." Joan nodded, and noticed the blushing and embarrassment of the DA, which was also picked up on by Harper. "It's all right, Paul, you weren't to know. We kept it pretty quiet, really. I didn't want my wife and daughter made the focal point of the tabloids. You know how they can be." Joan agreed, watching him with interest.

"It's odd, don't you think?" Sherlock began, placing his arms by his sides and shifting on his feet. "Your wife being in the same bank your medical records are in, at the exact time at which they are stolen?"

"What are you implying, Mr Holmes?" Harper asked, slowly frowning. "You think my ex-wife is involved somehow? Ridiculous! She is the warmest, kindest woman you would ever meet. She has no reason to take my files." 

"On the contrary, Mr Harper. She is now divorced from one of the wealthiest men in the city. Imagine the funds she could acquire, the power she could obtain, by owning the medical records of some of the highest-ranking and well-known members of New York society." Sherlock replied, staring into Harper's eyes.

"That is absurd, Mr Holmes. Melinda did sign a pre-nup, but she has a considerable amount of wealth of her own. Her father founded a consultancy firm back in the eighties, which really took off." Harper paused for a more, inhaling deeply before continuing. "Melinda had absolutely nothing to do with this, of that I am certain. If she was involved, why would she be at the bank? And why would she take our child with her?" He was becoming more agitated and annoyed, leaning forward further in his seat and staring up at Sherlock, who was watching him with interest. "I assure you, Mr Holmes, you are wrong."

"Perhaps" Sherlock stated simply, not breaking his gaze. "But it is certainly something which I believe should be considered further." Harper sighed in exasperation, shaking his head slowly.

Gregson wisely changed the subject, and the group discussed other possible avenues of thought and investigation for the next hour, until Sherlock and Joan needed to leave. Sherlock had already explained the situation to Captain Gregson, who escorted them from the room and wished them well, before returning to the visitors. He remained in that room for another hour, continuing their conversation, and listening to Miss Fedori's vitriol, until they had exhausted all the possible avenues of inquiry. The group departed, after giving Gregson their contact details, and requesting regular and detailed updates.

Sherlock and Joan arrived at the hospital a quarter of an hour early, and the latter led the way to the consultation area. Sherlock had been very quiet on the car ride over, despite her efforts to make conversation, but she decided not to press him. She knew he was nervous, but was certain that once they arrived at the hospital and met the doctor, he would feel more at ease. She was not sure of precisely what it was that he was afraid of: the reality of the situation, if something was wrong, at his confusion over his emotions. Something told Joan that his fear was most likely to be due to a combination of these factors. As was her own.

Sherlock and Joan approached the help desk at the back of the room, and Joan exchanged a few words with the woman behind the desk, who smiled at her warmly. The receptionist told her that she would inform Dr Kennedy of Miss Watson's arrival, and invited her and her "husband" to take a seat. Joan blushed and Sherlock stared curiously at the woman, before Joan thanked her and led Sherlock towards the seating area. Once they sat down, they looked at each other for a moment, and exchanged laughter and a smile. Joan was glad of the receptionist's mistake, as well as it's affect on Sherlock. It seemed to put him much more at ease. Temporarily, at least. As she mused over his temporary happiness, her mind drifted back to the conversation with the receptionist, and the name of the doctor she said would be meeting her: Dr Kennedy. She recognised the name immediately, as the doctor who examined her about six weeks ago when she came to the ER in the middle of the night. She had been scheduled to visit her regular physician, Dr Costello, but due her need to reschedule her appointment, had been required to visit a different doctor. As she pondered this coincidence, Dr Kennedy appeared from a door to their left, and greeted Joan warmly. She stood to greet him, and Sherlock rose also, shaking the doctor's hand with confidence. Dr Kennedy surveyed the couple curiously, before leading them into his consultation room, and closing the door behind them. The room was fairly spacious for a consultation room, and painted in pastel shades with white furniture. There was a large window at the back of the room, which made it appear even larger than it was. To the right of the room was an examination table, surrounded by various machines and medical equipment. To the right of the room was a large, dark-wooden desk, which Dr Kennedy moved instantly behind, and indicated to the two seats in front of it. Sherlock and Joan sat themselves down slowly and with ease, admiring the calmness of the room and the minimalist nature of the décor. Joan was admiring a photo frame on the desk as Dr Kennedy began to speak.

"Well, Miss Watson, how are you feeling? No further complications, I take it?" Joan froze, pursing her lips together and inhaling deeply. She noticed Sherlock move his head slightly to face her, and could feel his gaze upon her.

"Yes, yes everything is fine, thank you." She stated, as Dr Kennedy smiled at her warmly before looking confusedly at his desk.

"I'm sorry, Miss Watson, I forgot to collect your file from records. I'll be right back." Joan nodded, and he rose from the desk before leaving the room, the gentle click of the door closing behind him breaking the silence in the room.

Joan turned towards Sherlock, who was watching her with confusion and concern. Before he could speak, she shifted in her seat, faced him directly, and began to talk.

"That morning, when you came downstairs and I was just getting home... I had been here" she began, watching as his intelligent eyes made the connection. "I woke up in the night and was feeling unwell. I had some cramping, and I thought..." she paused, swallowing before continuing. "I called a taxi, arrived at the ER and was checked over. I was fine, everything is fine. I discharged myself an hour or so later and came home." Sherlock watched her for a few moments, before nodding slowly, and facing forward before glancing back to her.

"Why didn't you tell me, Watson?" he asked, his voice slightly quieter than usual, his tone slightly raised.

"There was nothing to tell, I was fine. I made an appointment with my doctor a few days later, and everything was fine-"

"I meant on the night, Watson." He stated. "Why didn't you tell me when you believed that something was wrong?" His voice changed slightly, and Joan could detect the presence of pain and hurt in his voice.

"I... it was the middle of the night and I... I hadn't told you yet, about the baby. I didn't want you to find out that way. I thought I was miscarrying, and I didn't want you to have to go through that. Especially since I had not even told you about my pregnancy." She spoke candidly and with great difficulty, which Sherlock knew. He watched her patiently as she spoke, and considered her words carefully. Her guilt had prevented her from seeking his help and comfort when she had needed him most. He understood her motivations, her desire to protect him, and her unnecessary self-condemnation. The thought of her being in pain, of being so afraid, and feeling unable to seek his help, especially when he was mere meters from her, hurt him deeply.

"Watson, I... I would have..." he paused, not knowing how to frame his response. He did not want to appear insincere or dishonest, but feared that any response he gave her would appear to be just that. So he decided, quite simply, to tell her the truth. "You should not have had to go through that alone. I would have been shocked, and very... confused, worried. About you, about the baby" he paused once more, tapping his fingers nervously on his knee. "I cannot say how I would have reacted, or what I would have said. But I assure you that I would have ensured that I did everything within my power to help you, to comfort you. And I would have done so gladly." Joan looked up at him, realising the truth and sincerity of his words. Before she could respond, the door opened behind them, and they both faced forward as Dr Kennedy moved to the other side of his desk and sat down.

"Well, Miss Watson, I can see from Dr Costello's notes that you saw her a few days after I examined you, and she confirmed that everything was fine. Your blood pressure had recovered, heart rate was normal. The baby was very healthy, developing as expected" he trailed off as he flicked through her file, replacing the cover and dropping it gently onto the desk. "So, how has everything been these last few weeks?"

"Fine." Joan responded, crossing her arms as she answered politely. Dr Kennedy seemed sceptical.

"And you've been taking better care of yourself? More sleep, more food, less stress?"

Joan nodded slowly, smiling politely, before unfolding her arms and shifting slightly in her seat. "Actually, I... my job is pretty demanding and it has been... challenging, at times. But I'm handling it. We're handling it." Dr Kennedy focused on her intently for a few moment, lowering his head slightly before placing the lid back on his fountain pen, and looking back up towards her.

"I understand, Miss Watson. I really do. But your health, and your baby's health, must take precedence over any and all work commitments." Joan nodded, noting how Sherlock was staring at the doctor, confusion and concern present in his eyes.

"You're right, of course. And I'm confident that I can handle this. I have made the recommendations you have suggested. I'm certainly sleeping more, and feeling hungry pretty much constantly. And yet, I feel more alert and more awake than ever before."

Dr Kennedy nodded, leaning back slightly in his seat. "I'm glad to hear it, Miss Watson, those are wonderful signs" he stated, approval and relief evident in his voice. "Now, I would like to take your blood pressure and your heart-rate, if I may, before giving you an ultrasound. Are you comfortable with that?" She nodded, pushing herself up from her seat and moving towards the examination table, lifting herself up onto and perching over the side.

Dr Kennedy moved towards Joan, removing his stethoscope from his shoulders, as Sherlock also walked towards Joan. The doctor stood to Joan's left, whilst Sherlock stood directly in front of her, his curious and intelligent eyes brimming with reassurance. Dr Kennedy placed his stethoscope over her heart and listened to it beating for fifteen seconds, glancing at his watch as he did so. During this time, Joan stared at the floor by Sherlock's feet, admiring his smart, expensive black shoes. Their previous conversation was still present in her mind, and she knew that she owed him a further explanation. One which she was fully prepared to give. She was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of Dr Kennedy's voice.

"That's perfect, Miss Watson. Completely normal. Now, would you mind rolling up your sleeve so I can check your BP?" Joan nodded, removing her black jacket and placing it on the bed, revealing a thin white cotton shirt beneath, which had short sleeves. Sherlock watched her as she removed her jacket, and found his attention drawn to her abdomen. The material of the shirt clung tightly to her stomach, caressing the notable curve of her abdomen. It was beautiful. His attention was only drawn from her stomach once he heard the gentle buzzing of the device used to measure Joan's blood pressure. He heard the sound of velcro being torn, and he directed his sight towards it. Joan had been watching him with interest the entire time, and saw the way he had been staring at her abdomen. She could not think of the words to describe it. The closest she came was 'with wonder'. "That's good too, Miss Watson. Slightly on the lower side of normal, but nothing to be concerned about. And it is a marked improvement upon the last time I checked it." Joan smiled, and felt relief wash over her. She was looking forward to the next part of the consultation, and glanced towards Sherlock to see if he was too. His expression was virtually unreadable, but she recognised the mixture of excitement and apprehension swimming in his eyes.

"Miss Watson, would you please lean back onto the table, and raise your shirt over your abdomen?" Dr Kennedy asked, drawing her from her thoughts. She nodded, and eased her legs slowly onto the table as she lay back, resting her head upon the headrest, before drawing her shirt up from her abdomen. She allowed her arms to fall to her sides, and she gripped the edges of the bed subconsciously. Sherlock observed this and moved closer towards her, and noticed how she released some of the pressure she was placing upon the metal sides. Sherlock's glance shifted from her hands to her abdomen, and he tilted his head to the side as his eyes widened. He had noticed the changing shape of her stomach, but there was something about seeing the bare skin of her curved abdomen which made his heart race and his breathing increase. She was truly beautiful. He stared at her stomach for several moments, and considered his thoughts on her body. He could not think of a suitable way to explain his thoughts on her stomach, but the closest he came to it was the word 'beautiful'. To him, it represented the physical manifestation of Joan's love for and desire to protect her child. Their child. Sherlock was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of Dr Kennedy's voice, as he warned Joan about the temperature of the gel which he was applying to her stomach. Sherlock lifted his gaze and watched the movements of the doctor with interest, before turning his attention to the black and white screen at the foot of the examination table.

As the image of their child appeared before them, he felt his breath catch in his throat, and he took a step closer to Joan. Joan was staring at the screen, and he noticed her lips tremble slightly as she looked at the image, her eyes filling with tears. Her right hand, which was holding the edge of the examination table, was shaking slightly. Without thinking and without explanation, Sherlock lifted his own hand and placed it over her own, squeezing it gently. He felt Joan freeze for a moment, before relaxing notably under his grasp. She then turned her hand around so that their palms were touching, and laced their fingers together. She turned towards him briefly, smiling slightly, before turning back and facing the screen. Sherlock also stared at the screen, watching the movements of their baby with interest and adoration. He watched their child for what seemed like an eternity, before focusing his attention on the movement at the centre of its body. Sherlock watched as their baby's heart beat strongly and consistently, and his eyes softened. It was more incredible than he could possibly have anticipated, and his eyes darkened and became glassy when Dr Kennedy turned off the machine, after printing off two copies of the image, and handing them to himself and Joan. Sherlock stared down at the image for a moment, before looking back towards Joan, who was doing the same. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she was chewing on the inside of her cheek. He squeezed her hand gently, which drew her attention towards him, and she smiled.

"Thank you, Watson" Sherlock spoke, in a low and solemn tone. "For allowing me to... to be part of this." Joan's eyes glistened with curiosity, and she pushed herself up into a seating position, before turning her body so her legs were hanging over the edge of the bed, her knees touching Sherlock's thighs.

"Without you, Sherlock, there would be nothing to be a part of." She smiled at him and he moved closer to her, placing her small hands inside her own and drawing their fingers together, and staring down at her with wide and warm eyes. Before he could speak, Dr Kennedy moved behind him, and began to speak.

"How very true, Miss Watson, and how wonderful it is to hear you say it. In some cases, the father often feels confused, out of place. They sometimes don't know what to do, which causes them to act in unusual and often out of character ways." He paused, glancing from Joan to Sherlock, and back to Joan. "It's great to see that is not the case here." He smiled warmly, and Joan nodded in response. Before she could speak, Joan felt Sherlock's grip on her hands tighten, before disappearing completely, his hands falling to his sides. She looked up at him curiously, recognising the strange look in his eyes instantly. He had just realised something, something significant. And he was processing it, analysing it mercilessly. Dr Kennedy did not seem to notice this, as he had turned away and made his way towards the desk after Joan had nodded. Joan waited patiently and silently until Sherlock was able to talk.

"'out of place'" Sherlock repeated, "change, difference..." his voice trailed off, and Joan watched him curiously. He was clearly onto something, but she had no idea what. Although she did not doubt that he was completely informed. "Watson, I... excuse me, won't you?" she nodded quickly, giving him a reassuring look, as he placed his hand in his pocket and abstracted his phone. He typed in something quickly, and scrolled and clicked for a few moments, before his eyes widened with satisfaction. He then dialled a number on his phone, rose it to his ear, and spoke to captain Gregson. As he did so, Joan wiped the gel from her stomach and adjusted her shirt, before putting on her jacket and easing herself off the table, and standing in front of Sherlock. She smiled politely at Dr Kennedy, who was watching them with curiosity.

"Yes, Captain, just him. Immediately, please. Thank you, yes. Yes, we will be there presently." Sherlock hung up and held the phone in his hand for a moment, before placing it back in his pocket and looking at Joan. "Watson, I believe I now understand the true motivation for these crimes, and it is genius, it is sinister. When you are ready, would you consent to travelling to the precinct?" His consideration and compassion touched Joan, and she nodded slowly, before walking over to Dr Kennedy and exchanging a few words with him. He reassured her that everything was fine, their baby was healthy, and that he would arrange for her to see either himself or Dr Costello in four weeks or so. She thanked him, before rejoining Sherlock, who turned quickly on his heels and walked towards Dr Kennedy, extending his hand. Dr Kennedy shook it warmly, and nodded at the consulting detective. "Thank you for all of your help, doctor. Now and previously" he began, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Thank you for helping Miss Watson, and our child. I am truly grateful for your efforts and your kindness." This seemed to surprise Dr Kennedy, who placed one hand over Sherlock's and nodding, before assuring him that it was his pleasure. Sherlock nodded, removing his hand before walking back towards Joan, and escorting her from the room. She was full of questions and concerns, which he answered on their way to her car, and discussed with her at length on the way to the precinct.

Sherlock and Joan arrived at the precinct fifteen minutes later, where they were met by a rather confused Captain Gregson. They talked with him for a few minutes, filling him in on what they knew, before gaining a warrant which enabled them to look into the financial history of the suspect, as well as various other pieces of information. Shortly afterwards, Gregson made a phone call, before nodding towards Sherlock and Joan. All they had to do was wait.

Thirty minutes later, Mr Harper was seated in the chair on the other side of Gregson's desk, and appeared to be calm and completely at ease. He looked towards the new entrants curiously, and Mr Harper offered Joan a polite, warm smile. She nodded in return, before pulling a seat from the right of the door closer to the sitting man, as Sherlock walked with Gregson towards his desk. The Captain sat behind his desk as Sherlock stood between Joan and the desk, and was watching Harper intently.

"Mr Harper, thank you so much for coming in at such short notice. I appreciate that you must be very busy." Sherlock began, leaning back on his heels.

"It's not a problem, Mr Holmes, I was glad you called. How can I help you?" He replied genially.

"I just have one question, Mr Harper, then you are free to leave this room without needing to worry about me bothering you any more." Sherlock replied, holding his clasped hands in front of him. Mr Harper nodded slowly, watching Sherlock with interest, a small smile playing on his lips. "I was just curious to know. Mr Harper, whether you had intended for the guard to be killed in the first robbery, or whether you wished for your wife to be the only fatality?"

Mr Harper's expression changed instantly. His smile disappeared, his cheeks flushed, and his face then turned ashen. He swallowed hard, before looking from Sherlock to Gregson, and back to Sherlock. "I don't... I'm sorry, I'm not quite... sure of what you are implying here..."

"Oh I think my implications are perfectly clear. I must congratulate you on your plan, though. Masterfully done, truly a stroke of genius. One of the most complex and elaborate plots to overcome a court ruling that I have ever come across."

Mr Harper continued to look perplexed, and placed his hands on his knees as he leaned forward slightly in his seat, his eyes blazing. "Mr Holmes, I have no idea what you are talking about." 

"Well naturally I didn't expect you to confess it immediately. So how about I reacquaint you with the facts, yes?" he asked, glancing briefly at Gregson before returning his gaze to Mr Harper. "Eight months ago your wife of ten years filed for divorce from you. Six months after that, the divorce was granted, although the details of the reasons behind it are very well hidden. I'd imagine the reasons are due to your temper, Mr Harper, which, despite your best efforts, is far too explosive to be successfully contained for too long. Your blazing eyes, the tight grip on your clothing, the flushing of your cheeks. You have a temper, quite a bad one at that, and I'd wager your wife was frequently on the receiving end of it." Sherlock's eyes darkened dangerously, and he looked upon the man with contempt, before continuing his speech. "Three weeks ago a secret court hearing granted your ex-wife full custody of your twenty-three month old daughter, Amy. You were only granted supervised visits, which Ms Carter's lawyer's were attempting to overturn. That wasn't good enough for you, was it? I'd imagine it made you quite livid. Not only was your wife out of your reach, but you had lost control over your daughter as well. So, you devised a plot to rectify this. Not only that, but you created a plan which was so brilliant, so creative, that it benefited you in three ways." Sherlock paused, watching the changing expression on Mr Harper's face, before continuing.

"You decided that you would kidnap your daughter, kill her mother, and acquire a plethora of invaluable blackmail material, all at once. Simply killing your wife would not be enough to secure the custody of your daughter. The ruling of the courts ensured that you would not be granted custody in any eventuality, so you had to get creative, didn't you? You orchestrated this whole, brilliant scheme as a front. Your wife was not frightened because of her presence in the bank, but the bank was attacked due to the presence of your wife. Quite brilliant, really. You hired a team of individuals to rob two banks, taking with them information relating to the confidential medical statuses and histories of people whose allegiance and support you would acquire for a successful presidential campaign. With their information, you could demand or threaten almost anything, ensuring their backing. This was a happy bonus though, really. Your main concern was not the files, but your ex-wife and young daughter. The first bank robbery, the one with the fatality, was a mere ruse. You knew that your wife would be in the second bank, at that time, as she always was on that particular day. She went there once a week to manage her finances after collecting her daughter from her mother's house. You instructed your cronies to acquire the materials, before kidnapping your daughter upon leaving the second bank. You were going to have her taken to a secure location, I presume, before transporting her abroad, somewhere without US extradition capabilities. I'm guessing Rio, due to the fact that your mother currently resides there. But that wasn't it, was it?" he asked, looking towards Harper, who was visibly uncomfortable.

"You were going to have them kill your wife. Unfortunately for you, the rapid response of the police to the pressing of an emergency button by one of the tellers, was unforeseen. They arrived earlier than intended, your men were spooked, and your plan destroyed. Although, you still have access to those materials." He nodded enthusiastically, clasping his hands tightly in front of him. "Or, at least, you would have that information, had your men not disappeared with it, and not made contact with you since. I'd imagine they are quite rattled." He stopped talking, staring at Harper with bright, intelligent eyes.

"That's all very interesting, sir, but I did not hear a shred of tangible proof in that entire fairy tale." Harper stated, his voice more nervous than he had anticipated.

"I expected as much" Sherlock began, shifting slightly on his feet. "Which is why we ran your financial records. You made a large cash withdrawal the day before the robbery, from your personal account. A sum, I presume, was used to pay the robbers. A quick online search of the public service records revealed issues relating to your marriage status, and consideration of the employment application of the female teller who is part of this conspiracy proved to be of significant interest. It shows that not only did you provide her, a former intern of yours, a glowing reference, but you actually recommended her for the new job at the second bank. You name is on both application forms, as are your glowing sentiments. Your mother's current residence is also a matter of public knowledge." Sherlock leaned back on his heels slightly, before continuing to stare at Harper with disdain.

Mr Harper shifted uncomfortably in his seat, before pressing his lips tightly together, and nodding. "She would have deserved it, you know." He began, his face calm but his eyes burning. "She had no right to take Amy from me. I was not going to let that happen."

"So you planned on killing her mother?" Sherlock asked, his voice low and full of anger. "The woman who gave you this child, who cared for her, and who ensured that she was protected." He watched Harper as his glare shifted from himself to Gregson, and back towards him.

"She had no right to... to do..." Harper shook his head rapidly, laughing slightly in a sinister tone. "I don't expect you to understand."

"I understand that you are responsible for the death of a man, and the traumatising of a mother and her child, all in the name of someone you are supposed to love. Love didn't even come into it, though, did it? You didn't want to be with your daughter because you loved her, but because you believed you had a right to her. You didn't, you don't. And you never will. If you did, you would never have placed her in a position where she was in the middle of an armed robbery, and about to witness the execution of her mother." Sherlock paused, watching as Mr Harper's breathing became laboured and uneven. His bright eyes no longer burned quite so boldly as they had done before. He was afraid. "You're right, in a sense, Mr Harper. I don't understand. And it is because I don't understand your actions, your reasoning, and your willingness to act in such a destructive and devastating way, that I am reassured. For once, I am glad that I do not understand. And, ironically, this lack of understanding has helped me to achieve true understanding. Of something which I never believed myself capable of before." Sherlock's tone softened as he finished his speech, and Joan looked towards him with complete and unquestioning adoration. He had realised how he felt, and how to handle his feelings, by contrasting them with the polar opposite of what unconditional love was. He not only realised that what he was feeling was unconditional and selfless love for another human being, but he now knew that it was not something to fear. As Captain Gregson moved from behind his desk to handcuff Mr Harper, Sherlock looked over towards Joan, and smiled. 


	17. Chapter 17

Over the next month, Sherlock and Joan found themselves feeling more confident and more content than they done in previous weeks. After the solving of the bank robbery case, Sherlock gained a greater confidence and understanding of the nature of his new role, and Joan was glad of the higher level of self-belief which he appeared to be dealing with. During the weeks following the solving of the case, Sherlock and Joan had worked on several other cases, some alongside the police, as well as a few independent ones. As Joan had reached the five month mark of her pregnancy, Sherlock was keen to ensure that she was feeling comfortable and secure. He was also concerned about the dangers associated with the work they did, and wished to protect her and the baby from potential threats. In order to do this, he suggested taking a few weeks off from case work and focusing on the redecorating of the bottom floor of the brownstone, which he was certain Joan would wish to participate in. And he was right.

One morning, during the twenty-week mark of Joan's pregnancy, Sherlock left the brownstone earlier than usual and travelled to the precinct, explaining his intentions regarding the brownstone to Captain Gregson. He also informed him that he and Joan would be taking some time away from active cases, to allow Joan to rest, as well as protecting her and the baby from the dangers associated with their work. However, he knew that himself and his companion would be able to work on both the brownstone and some cases. Therefore, he travelled to the precinct to request access to some cold cases from Captain Gregson. He knew this would keep Joan busy, and satisfy her investigative desires, whilst keeping her safe. She would be able to work mainly from the comfort of their home, with his assistance, of course. Gregson nodded in approval and had the necessary files brought up from storage, and passed them over to him. Sherlock thanked him, before leaving the precinct and getting into a taxi, heading straight back to the brownstone.

The journey was short, and Sherlock spent it flicking through the files and perusing them with interest. He made several deductions as he did so, and established a link between three of the case files, forming a strong opinion of who the perpetrator of the crimes was from the evidence provided. He was staring into the depths of these files as he got out of the taxi, handing some more absent mindedly to the driver, and was so distracted that he shut the door upon his warm, red scarf as he left the cab. He pulled away immediately, the sound of the ripping and tearing of the scarf drawing him from his thoughts, and turned around to see the taxi drive away with a piece of his favourite scarf fluttering in the breeze. He looked down towards his chest and saw that his soft, red cashmere scarf was damaged irreparably. He sighed in frustration before turning on the stop, ascending the steps towards the brownstone. He held the files under his left arm as he entered the brownstone, and was examining the remains of his scarf with his right hand, as Joan walked down the stairs and met him.

"Hey. What happened to your scarf?" She asked, causing him to look up. Joan was wearing thick black tights and a large, dark blue shirt. She was eyeing him with curiosity, and he looked up to meet her gaze, pulling the scarf off as he responded to her.

"It had a dispute with a taxi door, Watson" he began, walking through to the living area, before placing the files and the remainder of the scarf on the desk, as Joan followed him through. "It lost, as you can see." Joan smiled slightly, before walking over towards the table and running her fingers along the scarf. Sherlock watched her for a moment, before removing his coat and draping it over a chair. "I bought us some files to work on, Captain Gregson seems eager to have them solved, so I told him we could look into them in our spare time." Joan nodded, looking up from the scarf and turning to face him. "Shall we go downstairs? We can discuss plans for the refurbishment of the rooms before consulting on these cases."

"Sure" she replied, walking with him through the kitchen and towards the stairwell which led to the bottom floor.

Sherlock and Joan walked through the rooms, surveying them intently, and making some observations and suggestions. They decided to keep the layout of the kitchen/dining area as it was, redecorating it and buying some additional furniture, but leaving it very much the same. They decided on keeping two of the rooms as bedroom, which they would redecorate and fill with new furniture, whilst turning the third and largest room into a nursery. Sherlock and Joan were standing in the room which was to be a nursery, reviewing the room with fresh eyes. It was spacious and airy, the large windows admitting bright, natural light. It was perfect. However, there was much work which needed to be done. The floorboards were made of dark wood, and needed to be sanded down and re-varnished. The walls were covered with fraying wallpaper, falling from the walls and revealing the light yellow paint beneath. It certainly had potential, but would need to be the primary focus of their work. Nevertheless, Sherlock was certain that this room, and the others, would be ready on time. He would make sure of that.

"You are sure it is to your liking, Watson?" she asked gently, turning to face her as she stared from the walls to the ceiling.

"It's perfect, Sherlock. Really great" she began, allowing her gaze to meet his face. "Are you absolutely sure about this, though?"

Sherlock pursed his lips together, nodding once, whilst meeting her gaze with confidence and reassurance. "I can think of nothing I would rather do with this space. It will provide us and our child with a space that is devoid from the horrors and corruption which we face in our daily lives. It will be our baby's sanctuary, and serve as a constant reminder to us of the immense capabilities of human beings. And our love for one person in particular." Joan looked up at him with warm eyes, her heart aching in her chest.

"Thank you." She stated simply, her voice slightly quiet. "Thank you. Although, I am concerned that your father is not letting us pay for a single thing. Is there no way to talk him round?"

"Absolutely none, Watson. Once my father has made his mind up regarding a financial issue, he is quite unable to be moved, I assure you." Sherlock spoke, turning to face Joan as her glance fell to the ground. "It is a gesture of kindness and goodwill, and as close to caring as my father is capable of feeling and displaying. He wants to do this, Watson, and is willing to. And please believe me, even if you were to request golden bathroom accessories and diamond-encrusted wallpaper, the costs would not even cause a ripple in the proverbial ocean of his wealth. You have nothing to feel guilty for, Watson, of that I assure you."

Joan looked up, offering him a half smile and sighing. "Slightly impractical, I think, Sherlock" she said, referring to the gold and diamond décor. "It is really kind of your father, incredibly generous, even considering his wealth. His offer was not just one of money, but of emotion. He didn't just send you a lump sum, he offered to pay for these refurbishments after you told him of your intentions. He wanted to do something personal for the baby."

Sherlock watched her with interest, pursing his lips together as he inhaled deeply. "My father's actions are as predictable as the setting of the sun, Watson. But I confess that I am not completely convinced by your analysis." He spoke solemnly, his head slightly bowed. Joan stepped forward slightly, but before she was able to form a response, Sherlock continued to speak. "But speaking of personal items for the baby, and for us, there is something which I wish to give to you." Sherlock blushed slightly, walking briskly past Joan, and towards the window. Joan turned quickly, her brows furrowed in confusion, as she watched as Sherlock picked up what appeared to be a picture frame, which was resting against the window, it's back facing her. Sherlock lifted it carefully, held it in front of him, and considered it for a few moments, before walking towards Joan without looking at her. He stopped when they were about six inches apart, and looked up from the frame to her face, anxiety and apprehension clear in his eyes. "It was something I made for you and the baby a few weeks ago. I worked on it on the roof, as I did not want you stumbling upon it by accident. I am not a painter, as I'm sure will be apparent, but I hope that it will be... I hope that you will like it, Watson" he stated sheepishly, passing the frame towards her. She held it in her hands, turned it around to see the image, and felt her eyes fill with tears.

The picture was held in an expensive black frame, which offset the image wonderfully, complementing the colours perfectly. Inside the frame was a beautiful, detailed and photo-esque watercolour painting of an adult bumblebee, it's wings outspread as it glided through the air. In the bottom right of the corner was a smaller image of the same type of bee, which was flying by it's parent's side. Sherlock had painted Joan a beautiful picture of a mother and baby bee, and it was the most incredible gift that she had ever received. She bit her lip to prevent the tears from falling, before rising her head slightly to face him with wide, glistening eyes. Before she could speak, Sherlock looked her in the eyes, and shifted slightly on the spot, before beginning to talk.

"The bees are examples of the _Euglassia Watsonia_. I felt it was appropriate." He stated, pursing his lips together as he shifted once more on the spot. "I tried to make them as scientifically accurate and aesthetically pleasing as possible, but of course there were limitations, my skills not being the least of those, and so I-"

Sherlock was cut off by Joan, who walked towards him, held the frame in one hand and embraced him. She held the frame tightly as she hugged him, which was more difficult than she had realised, and smiled as she felt his arms wrapping themselves around her back. "Thank you" she whispered, holding him close. They remained like that for several minutes, the sounds of their hearts beating breaking the stillness and silence of the room. Slowly, Joan prised herself from him, carefully maintaining her grip upon the frame.

"It is beautiful, Sherlock. The most incredible gift I have ever received, and our baby's first. We can place it in the nursery" she added musingly, as she looked at one of the large walls, before staring back towards him. "But where are you in the picture?"

Sherlock seemed surprised and taken aback by her question, and he looked from her face to the floor, before glancing up and fixing his attention upon the frame. "In your hands, Watson" he began, nodding towards her grip on the frame. She looked down towards her hands, before staring up at him with confusion. "I am the frame and the glass. I will protect you, hold you both up, and prevent you from falling or becoming harmed in any way." Joan's eyes glistened as he spoke, her lip trembling slightly as she looked down towards the image once more. Before she could respond, Sherlock received a phone call, which he accepted, offering her an unnecessary glance of apology. He sighed as he listened to the person on the other end of the phone talking, looking over to Joan briefly, who nodded encouragingly at him. "Yes, very well, Captain, I will be there shortly." Sherlock hung up, frustration clear in his voice. "I'm sorry, Watson, the Captain requires my urgent attention at the precinct. Something to do with the evidence on the Tucker case. I will return presently."

"Of course" she smiled warmly, grateful for the chance to calm herself and admire the picture in private, which she was sure would make her break into fresh tears. "Go ahead. I'll see you soon." He nodded gratefully, before turning and walking from the room. Joan gazed down at the picture once more, the beauty of it mesmerising her. As she looked at it intently, she traced the image of the adult and baby bee with her finger tips, and thought over his words. He spoke beautifully, and she was certain that he was being sincere. She just wished she could make him feel more included, and reassure him that she wanted him to know that he was just as much a part of the inside of this picture as he was the outside. Her thoughts and attention were only drawn from it as she heard the front door shutting behind him. The sound of the door drew her from one line of thought, and reminded her of another. The slamming sound reminded her of the story Sherlock told her about the taxi and the scarf, and her eyes shone with inspiration. She smiled, placing the frame on the ground before walking quickly up the stairs, towards the living area, and pausing at the desk. She picked up his scarf, held it to her face, and inhaled his scent. She pulled it away from her nose, opened her eyes, and smiled at it. She had an idea.

Sherlock returned less than an hour later, placing his coat on the coat rack and walking through the living area. Joan was not there, and he moved through to the kitchen, looking around the room. He then approached the stairs to the bottom floor, wondering if she could still be down there, and descended them quickly, calling her name. He heard her respond, and followed the sound of her voice to the nursery, where he found her sitting in the middle of the room, the picture frame lying face up on the ground. She looked up at him warmly, inviting him forward. He took a few steps towards her, watching her with interest, when he noticed something by her side. It was the remnants of his scarf, which were even more torn than they had been previously, which he deduced was linked to the pair of scissors that were resting on top of the material.

"I was perfectly prepared for you not to like my gift, Watson, but I did not expect that it would lead to the destruction of my property." He stated, his tone a mixture of humour and confusion.

"I wasn't destroying anything" she responded, tilting her head slightly to look up towards him. The light shining in from the window was dazzling, making it difficult for her to focus her gaze upon him. "I was borrowing some of the material to help with your most recent project" she stated simply. Sherlock watched her with confusion, bending down until he was balancing on the front of his feet, his hands clasped on his lap in front of him. He watched Joan with interest as she looked towards him, then faced downwards. He followed her gaze to the picture, where he noticed an immediate change in the image. Once he had taken a few seconds to realise the difference of the image, the splash of red which was now amongst the yellow, black, white and blue, his eyes flashed with realisation, and he looked up to meet Joan's gaze.

After he left, Joan recovered his damaged scarf and took it downstairs. She cut it into strips, wrapped some pieces around each other, and sewed them together, creating a perfect miniature replica of Sherlock's scarf, complete with tassels. She removed the back of the picture frame from the image, pulling out the painting, and secured the scarf around the neck of the mother bee. It fit perfectly. She then placed the glass over the picture and returned it to the frame, placing the frame on the ground, facing upwards. Sherlock chewed on the inside of the bottom of his lip for a moment, his eyes feeling sore and heavy. He was deeply touched by Joan's actions, and completely understood what she had been trying to achieve.

"I am so glad you feel that you are the frame, Sherlock. And you're right, you have protected us, and helped to support and keep us safe. But we can do this together, Sherlock. Which made me think" she paused, looking up towards him. "If you can be part of the frame, so can I. Therefore, if I can be part of the parent bee, so can you." She looked up at him, patiently waiting for a response. She realised that he found these kind of situations challenging, but felt that they had made real progress in the past few weeks, in terms of his ability to consider and discuss his emotions. She hoped that this gesture would reassure him, and make him realise just how much he meant to her and their baby. From the look in his eyes as he met her glance, she believed that she may have been more successful than she had anticipated.

"Thank you, Watson" he replied solemnly, his eyes not leaving the image in front of him. The scarf fitted the image of the bee perfectly, and he was touched by Joan's kindness and consideration. He had intended the picture to represent the relationship between the mother and child, but it now depicted a family. And he was glad of this, of his inclusion. Of the realisation of his role within their lives. Their life.

Joan watched him for a few minutes, following his gaze, as he stared at the picture before him. After he was silent for a few minutes more, his face displaying a look of deep thought, Joan gently called his name, hoping to draw him from his trance. "Sherlock?" she called gently, causing his eyes to rise to meet hers at once, the look of confusion present in them. He looked from her eyes, and cast his glance down towards her stomach, before looking back to the framed image. Over the past few weeks Joan had noticed him doing this a lot. Sometimes she would look over to him and find him staring at her abdomen, with a look on his face that she could not describe, but one which she recognised instantly at that moment. Usually she would simply watch him, trying to decipher and understand the look, before he caught her glance and looked away, or began to talk of something related to what they were doing.

This time, though, she acted differently. She pushed herself up from the ground, and crawled slowly to his side, until she was kneeling beside him. He watched her curiously, falling from his feet to his knees and facing her directly, their faces inches apart. They held their gaze for a moment, before Joan lowered her head, and placed her hand over his clasped ones. He unclasped his hands and placed one of them in her own, not looking away from her face. She smiled a small, warm smile, and slowly drew his hand towards her abdomen. Sherlock froze, shifting slightly on his knees, before dropping his gaze to their joined hands. He watched as Joan removed her hand from his, and placed it over the front of his hand, pressing his palm to her abdomen. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat, and she saw his pupils dilate as he pressed his hand gently to her stomach, spreading his fingers out cautiously. Joan held her hand comfortingly over his for a few moments, before slowly removing it, and watching as he focused on her stomach. He was staring at her abdomen, and began to move his hand slowly across her stomach, the light feeling of his fingers travelling across her skin making Joan feel warm and content. As his hand reached the bottom of her abdomen, she the baby kick twice beneath his hand, and saw his eyes widen as his hand shook slightly. She smiled, feeling his trembling hand pressed firmly against her stomach, as the baby continued to kick. Sherlock placed his free hand next to his other one, which had been resting on her abdomen, and traced the baby's movements with his fingers. Joan watched him in amazement as his eyes were wide and bright with interest and knowledge. This continued for just under two minutes until the baby stopped moving, and Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion.

"That's about as active as the baby gets. Almost always at this time, and usually for the same amount of time." Joan stated warmly. Sherlock lifted his eyes from her abdomen to her face, and they stared at each other for a few moments, a strong connection felt by them both. "It's wonderful, isn't it?" She asked, continuing to meet his gaze, neither of them blinking.

"Yes, it is" he stated slowly, in a quiet voice. "And so are you, Watson." Before she could respond, Joan felt one of Sherlock's hands leave her abdomen, and was instantly struck by how she missed his hand, longing for his touch. Sherlock leaned forward slightly, placing his right hand on Joan's cheek, and drawing her towards him. They both closed their eyes, and Joan leaned in as she was pulled gently towards Sherlock, and their lips met. They kissed tentatively at first, before opening their eyes slightly so observe the reaction of the other. They each found comfort and reassurance in the eyes of the other, and so closed their eyes once more, and kissed more passionately. Joan lifted her left hand and placed it on Sherlock's face, caressing his cheek as he pulled her deeper into the kiss, until she was leaning into him, and he could feel her abdomen pressed against his stomach. Sherlock moved his free hand to Joan's lower back and held her to him, running his hand gently up her back as they continued to kiss. A few minutes later they stopped, looked at each other curiously, and smiled. Joan tilted her head down slightly, resting her face on his chest, and listened to his fast-beating heart. Sherlock moved his hand from her back to the back of her head, and held her gently, planting a kiss on the top of her forehead. They sat like this, delicately entwined, for over an hour before either of them spoke or dared to move, the only witness to their passionate encounter being the beautiful painting which lay by their side.


	18. Chapter 18

It had been four weeks since Sherlock and Joan shared their passionate kiss in their child's nursery, which was an evening which had been playing on both of their minds ever since. The partners had remained together in the room, wrapped in each other's arms, for over an hour since the kiss ended. Joan had been leaning against Sherlock, who was supporting her with one arm, and stroking her hair with his free hand. The calm and soothing sensation this provided sent Joan to sleep, which Sherlock became aware of by the gentle and delicate changes in her breathing, and so he resolved not to wake her. Instead, he had sat with her in silence, enjoying the peace and serenity of their time together, as darkness slowly crept in through the window. When Joan awoke about an hour later, she immediately sensed the new darkness of the room, and pushed herself from Sherlock and sat on the ground, staring at him with confusion. After a few moments, she realised where she was, and what had happened, and her eyes softened. As she looked at Sherlock, who was sitting just inches away from her, she began remembering the kiss. The touches, the sensation, the passion. The memory made her heart beat faster and her pupils dilate, both of which were noticed by Sherlock, who blushed slightly.

"You fell asleep, Watson, and have been resting for about an hour." He spoke softly, as her eyes adjusting to his image in the darkness. "You seemed to be rather peaceful, so I did not wish to disturb your rest. I'm quite aware of how much you are in need of it."

Joan did not reply immediately, but allowed the sound of his voice to swim in her thoughts and mix with the memory of their passionate kiss and emotional embrace. She nodded slowly, before realising that it was unlikely that he could see such a movement considering the darkness of the room. But he did. "Thank you, Sherlock" she mumbled groggily, brushing her hair from her face and inhaling deeply. "I think I should go to bed, I'm exhausted." She sounded slightly nervous, possibly embarrassed. Sherlock knew that she was processing the events of the past few hours, and understood that she needed time and privacy to fully consider them. He nodded in the darkness, watching as she shifted her position, before pushing himself off the ground, and offering her his hand. She accepted, and he helped her up, leading her from the room and up the staircase. Their hands were entwined and their hearts racing, as Sherlock took Joan upstairs to her bedroom, pausing just outside the door as she walked inside. She turned around to face him, confusion etched on her face.

"Goodnight, Watson" he spoke gently, as he slowly and regrettably released her hand. "Should you require anything I will be downstairs." He spoke kindly and warmly, and Joan understood his reasons for not following her into her room. Although she coveted his company, she was grateful, knowing that there was much she needed to consider. She thanked him once more before offering him a small, weary smile. Sherlock nodded, turned on his heel, and walked briskly down the stairs. Joan remained in her doorway for a few moments, watching as he walked down the stairs, staring after him until she could no longer heard the familiar sound of his feet upon the floor. She sighed deeply, closing her tired eyes, before closing the door firmly behind her and retreating to her bed.

Over the next month, the kiss was not mentioned directly by either of them, nor was it repeated. But both of them noticed a change in their relationship, something subtle and indefinable, but unquestionably different. Joan would sometimes catch Sherlock glancing at her, more intently and with a warmer expression than she had seen before. Over the next few weeks, they spent more time sat together, often in silence, sharing the space on the couch. Sherlock had seemingly abandoned his favourite armchair, instead preferring to sit near Joan on the red couch. She was grateful for it, the proximity, their shared physical closeness. And so was he. Sometimes, when they spoke, they eyes would linger upon each other for longer than usual, their fixed gaze seeming to last for an endless and unmeasurable period of time. There was a definite change, that was certain. But defining and understanding that change was something which neither of them had yet even began to understand, nor would they, for the time being. This was one of the reasons why neither of them discussed the kiss, or the time they shared in the nursery. They did not know how to discuss it, to deal with it, or to relate it to their current confused feelings. So they both decided to wait, until they were in a better position to understand it, and be able to discuss it more constructively. Besides, over the past month, they had been exceptionally busy.

Despite being twenty-four weeks pregnant, Joan displayed absolutely no signs of slowing down, or removing herself from the work she shared with Sherlock. Although she had ceased involving herself in some of the more physical or dangerous elements of their work, she had continued to work gruelling hours, analyse complex material, and dedicate all her time, strength and emotions to the cases which they handled. Sherlock had tried to make this as easy for her as possible, and assist her as much as he could. She was becoming more and more tire as her pregnancy progressed, but often fought it, trying to work through her weariness until she was overcome by exhaustion. On multiple occasions Sherlock had recognised the signs of her extreme tiredness, and either sat with her on the couch until she was too comfortable and too relaxed to remain awake for any longer, or insisted upon her going to bed. His insistence had occasionally frustrated her, and she had sighed deeply in an attempt to calm herself before responding to him, but she always agreed. She knew he was right, she knew she needed to rest, and she fully understood that the baby required her to take better care of herself. And so, each time, she went to bed willingly, falling asleep before her head even touched the pillow, and waking up feeling refreshed and revitalised.

During this time the duo had worked on several cases, some independently, and a few in connection with current police investigations. They had solves a spate of assaults on young female joggers, unravelled the case of a man stalking his ex-girlfriend, and investigated the murder of a young teaching assistant in a car park. However, the one case that had not been completely resolved was the one involving the three robbers. Despite the case being understood, and the orchestrator of the crimes apprehended, the three men and their female accomplice were yet to be caught. Elissia Carles, the bank teller who had used her position in order to help her boyfriend and her brothers commit the crimes, was still missing along with the men. However, it had now been firmly established that the suspected siblings were the guilty ones. The necklace which baby Amy had torn from the neck of her temporary captor had the fingerprints of both brothers, and the DNA of her brother Andrew, who was believed to be the owner. The suspects were currently missing, along with the confidential medical files. It was clear that they knew they had been identified, which prevented them from coming forward. Even more frustrating for them was that they had not yet been paid for their crimes, and were therefore hiding out with a limited amount of money. Despite the fact that the material in their possession was worth a considerable amount, they were not in a position to approach anyone with its contents. Mainly because they did not know what the information was (their employer had been very careful not to reveal that particular detail), and they were certainly not able to try to sell it without raising any red flags, and almost certainly revealing their location. Nevertheless, they had managed to successfully evade the NYPD, and Sherlock and Joan, for over six weeks. But from their work, and the leads received by the police, Sherlock and Joan believed that they were closing in on them, and that this case would soon be fully resolved: the criminals caught, the murderers placed on trial for the death of the security guard, and the private information recovered and withheld from those who wished to expose it.

On this particular day, a warm afternoon in July, Sherlock had left the brownstone early in pursuit of a lead, leaving Joan a hastily written note by her pillow. He explained that he had not wanted to wake her, stated that he would be spending most of the day searching some abandoned derelict properties on the outskirts of the city, and that he expected to be back later that day. She knew that he cared about her rest and her safety, which was why he had not woken her, as he would have done before her pregnancy. At first these actions had frustrated her slightly, but that feeling soon dissipated as soon as it had appeared. And, once again, she found herself understand and agreeing with her logic. She had absolutely no intention of placing her baby in an unsafe position, regardless of the case. Especially considering the fact that trained police were more than capable of handling the task at hand. So upon reading this note, she smiled slightly, sitting up in bed as she re-read it, and running her fingers across his handwriting. She had not planned anything for that day, but knew that Sherlock would have left her a stack of case files to look over, as he always did when he left her unattended. He knew that she enjoyed their work, and did not wish to deprive her of it or make her feel disconnected from her job. Sifting through cold cases and analysing the evidence often led to her making discoveries which others had missed, even Sherlock, although he would seldom admit it. She relished in this work, enjoying wrapping herself up in some think blankets with some warm tea, reclining on the sofa as she studied the files. This was precisely what she had been doing that afternoon, reading the medical reports on a three-year old cold case, whilst placing her hand comfortingly on her growing abdomen, and smiling as she could feel the baby moving. Her musings had been interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell, causing her to untangle herself from her blankets and walk slowly towards the foyer.

Joan answered the door dressed in a loose-fitting white cotton dress and plain tights, her comfiest and most appreciated clothing choice of this season. The summer had been a particularly hot one, and the need to dress for coolness and comfort had never been so strong. She felt comfortable and confident as a result, and smiled warmly as she opened the door to a smartly-dressed Captain Gregson, who nodded and greeted her politely.

"Miss Watson, good to see you. I don't suppose Holmes is here, is he?" Gregson asked, removing his hands from his jacket pockets.

"No, Captain', he's not. He's investigating some abandoned properties on the outskirts, although he should be back soon." She responded, looking at him warmly. "Please, come in." Gregson nodded appreciatively as Joan moved to allow him to enter, pressing herself against the wall before closing the door firmly behind him. "Is there something I can help with?"

Captain Gregson looked curiously around the foyer, before bending down and picking up some post which had been delivered without Joan's knowledge, and passing it to her. "Quite possibly, yeah. Do you remember the Reiland case?"

"The murder-suicide?" She asked, rifling through the letters and sorting Sherlock's from her own, as Gregson began to remove his jacket.

"Yeah, that's the one, well I don't-"

"It's not a murder suicide. The gun-shot wounds on the husband were not self-inflicted. The injuries are consistent with suicide, but the medical reports show that he had recently injured his right hand in a skiing accident. Although it was recovering, there is no way he would have had the strength in his fingers to pull the trigger. I'd say you're looking at a murder case, third party. And judging by the hidden emails in his wife's account, revealing her recent break-up with her lover, I'd say you should direct your attention there first." In the time in which she had stated this to an awe-struck Captain Gregson, Joan had taken his jacket from him and hung it by the door, before leading him through to the living area where they were currently standing. She placed Sherlock's letters on his desk and kept the two belonging to her in her left hand.

"I'm impressed, Miss Watson. Our ME said there was something off about his hand, but we had no idea what. How could you tell it was a skiing accident? And the extent of his injury?"

"In the background of one of the crime scene photos were some bottles of medication used to treat inflammation and muscle pain, as well as the pain associated with such an injury. He and his wife also got back from a ski trip five weeks ago, which we found out from his credit card purchases. One of which included a less-than-cost-effective visit to a European private hospital. It wasn't a great leap from there." Joan leaned against Sherlock's desk and looked up at the Captain, watching his expression with interest. "Something wrong, Captain?"

"No, Miss Watson. Absolutely not. In fact, you've just saved me, thank you." Gregson smiled warmly at her, placing his hands in his trouser pockets and leaning forwards slightly. "I didn't just come here to see Sherlock, you know." he began, as she looked at him curiously. "I wanted to check that you're alright, and that you have everything you need. I haven't seen you at the precinct as much, and Sherlock mentioned how tired you get. I think he was pretty concerned, but I managed to reassure him by telling him of how my wife was when she was pregnant with our daughters. She practically went into hibernation."

Joan laughed, tapping her fingers gently upon the desk. "I'm fine, thank you. Yes, I have been tired. But he has been wonderful, very-" she broke off, searching for the right words. She could think of several dozen which she could use, but it took her a while to consider the most appropriate, before she settled confidently on "attentive". Gregson nodded slowly.

"You know, I knew he would be. Beneath all that bravado and intelligence and 'look at me', he cares. He does. I've seen him with other people, with cops, with victims, and I have seen him with you. That man's emotional range is by no means as limited as some would have us believe. In fact, sometimes I often wonder if it is actually beyond us, and above what we can understand."

Joan blushed slightly, remembering her night with Sherlock. His kindness before, his care and devotion afterwards. Gregson was right, and she knew it. Sherlock Holmes was more emotionally able and sensitively aware than any of them had given him credit for. She did not know whether this thought made her glad, or concerned. For him, of course, not for herself.

"I think you're right." She muttered, looking down at the letters in her hand. The top one was a cell phone bill, not urgent, she would open it later. Before she could flip over to examine the second one, she looked up to face Gregson. "Would you like to see downstairs? I'm not sure how much Sherlock has told you about-"

"The renovations? He doesn't stop talking about it. The only way he could possibly tell me more about it would be if you guys found a couple of dead bodies down there."

Joan paused for a moment, pressing her lips together and breathing in sharply. "Yeah, well, let's hope not." She replied, trying to respond appropriately to Gregson's humour. He was not to know how afraid she was, of their work, of their cases, and of the effect of the above on her baby. Despite the fact that she and Sherlock had discussed the baby's safety extensively, at had come up with a series of elaborate and detailed methods by which to ensure his or her safety, Joan was still afraid. And sometimes the fear overtook her, making her unable to think clearly or to process what was going on. Sherlock always sensed when she was experiencing these feelings, and would move to be by her side, sitting next to her. He didn't always speak, sometimes they sat in complete silence. But his presence reassured her, and renewed her faith in their joined ability to keep their child safe.

Gregson evidently sensed her discomfort, and moved slowly towards her, drawing her attention from the letters to his face. "Sorry, Miss Watson, police-station humour. I'd love to see downstairs" he began, "it may get your partner to stop talking about it non-stop". Joan smiled weakly but warmly, turning on the spot and leading Gregson down the steps.

The rooms had improved greatly in the past few weeks, with both bedrooms having been painted and filled with new furniture, all of which was still in its packaging, and would not be set up until the state-of-the-art alarm systems which Sherlock had found were installed. The rooms were painted in warm pastel shades, which made them feel light, airy and extremely comfortable. Both bedrooms contained four large boxes which held the furniture which needed to be put together. The curtains, rugs and linen for each room was wrapped in translucent air-tight packaging, and piled next to the largest of the boxes. The skirting boards had been painted white, the doors fitted with designer locks, and the lighting and electrics had been revamped. It was an impressive and expensive endeavour, Gregson decided, but it was entirely worthwhile. The kitchen and dining area was very much the same, although it had been endowed with fresh paint and new tiles, as well as a brand new dark-wooden dining table and matching chairs which stood next to the window. The bathroom was still being worked on, and contained pots of paint and glue, filler, and an array of tiles and other items. But the room that Gregson anticipated the most, the one which Joan led him into last, was the nursery. As soon as he entered the room, Gregson could not stop himself from smiling. He paused in the doorway behind Joan, and nodded to himself in a satisfied manner, before walking around the room and admiring the décor.

The room was beautiful. It was painted a very light shade of yellow, a colour which was just slightly darker than magnolia, and had dark wooden floorboards. From the doorway, there was a large window on the wall to the right, which was shielded by large, beige curtains, which draped elegantly down the walls. In front of the window were a two armchairs, of an ornate design, with dark wood and upholstery which matched the colouring of the room. Between the chairs was a dark wooden table, with shelves and space beneath it, on which was stored several blankets, a couple of books, and some toys. The top of the table was adorned with flowers, and a think, white rug lay beneath. To the left of the room was a beautiful, dark wooden crib, which was fitted with sheets and items matching the chairs and curtains. The soft, light material gave the immediate feeling of softness and warmth, which pervaded the atmosphere of the room. A couple of soft toys lay in the corners of the crib, and a thin, white blanket hung elegantly over the side. To the left of the crib, and up against the same wall, were two large shelving units, made of the same dark wood as the rest of the furniture, and between it was a changing table, created from the same wood and in the same ornate style. The table had a similar layer of shelves and storage space as the table between the chairs, and was stocked with blankets, clothing and diapers. Gregson could not see this, but the first shelving unit, complete with drawers and some shelving units, contained baby clothes, outfits, blankets and towels, and the second contained items such as toys, medication, diapers, wipes, bathing items and other related paraphernalia. Against the back wall was a large sofa bed, adorned with several white cushions. To the left of this was a small dark-wooden table, evidently for a young child, complete with three chairs. Bookshelves were placed on the wall to the right, matching the ones which joined together the two storage units near the crib. Gregson spent several minutes in silence, walking around the room, and admiring its contents.

Joan watched him with interest. Other than herself, Sherlock and some of the work people, Captain Gregson was the first person to see the almost-complete nursery. Watching him walk across the room proudly, and showing such clear interest and approval, made Joan's heart swell. After all the help and support he had given Sherlock, not to mention herself, especially over the last few months, she was grateful that he was able to share this experience with them. She found herself drawn from her thoughts by the Captain's voice.

"Miss Watson, what's this?" he asked, turning back and smiling, as he indicated to the framed picture which hung above the crib.

Joan smiled, and walked towards him with confidence. "That's a framed image given to the baby by Sherlock. He painted it himself" she stated quietly and warmly, her eyes not leaving the picture. "It's a perfect replica of the _Euglassia Watsonia_, you remember the one?" she turned to Gregson, who nodded, before turning to face her fully.

"And these bees that he bred, are they born with scarves?" he asked, raising his eyebrows as he smiled.

"No Captain, they do not" she replied, placing one hand on her hip as she smiled and looked to the ground, before returning her gaze to his face. "Sherlock said that the big bee was me, and the smaller one was our baby. When I asked him where he fit in, he replied that he was the frame. He said that he protected us, held us steady, and kept us safe from harm." Joan's voice softened as she recollected his words, and she smiled warmly and absent-mindedly as she spoke. Captain Gregson noticed this, but did not wish to interrupt her train of thought, and waited for her to continue. "I told him that we both protected the baby, and each other. Therefore, we both form part of the frame. I also said that, by that logic and my own conviction, we are each part of the mother bee. Or parent bee, really. So I placed part of one of his damaged scarves to the image, so he was incorporated too." She was staring at the picture as she spoke, and so was oblivious to the look of amazement and approval that Gregson gave her. He smiled simply, before responding.

"That is, quite possibly, one of the most amazing gifts that I have ever heard of. And your child will treasure it, and he will treasure you."

"He?" Joan asked, looking at Gregson with confusion. The Captain sighed embarrassedly, before meeting her gaze.

"Sherlock thinks the baby is a boy. Something about the way your walk has changed and your sleeping pattern has... I don't know, I... it's what he thinks."

Joan offered him a small smile, laughing slightly, before sighing. "Yeah, he said the same thing to me. We both decided that we don't want to know before the baby is born, which, if anything, has made him even more determined to deduce." Gregson laughed, turning from the crib and walking towards the window, placing his hands in his trouser pockets once more.

Joan turned to face Gregson, whose back was to her as he stared out of the window, and she walked slowly behind him, placing her letters on the table between the armchairs. Before she could speak, she could hear the familiar sound of Sherlock's excited voice coming from upstairs, calling her name.

"We're down here!" she returned, turning her head towards the staircase and yelling.

Moments later, his footsteps could be heard descending the stairs, and he immediately approached the nursery.

"'We', Watson?" he stated, walking into the nursery. "Ah, Captain. Everything is alright, I trust?" he asked, looking at Joan with a nervous glance, which she abated immediately by giving him a kind and reassuring look.

"Yeah, yeah I just came to consult you on a case, but Miss Watson solved it before I even got through the door, thus giving me the time to admire your baby floor." Gregson responded, turning to face Sherlock.

"My baby what?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he frowned. Gregson and Joan exchanged an amused glance, before looking towards Sherlock. "Ah, right, yes. And what do you think?" he asked, leaning back on his heels.

Gregson nodded in satisfaction. "I love it, it's great. I especially enjoyed that painting, and the story behind it." Sherlock blushed slightly, as did Joan. Every time they looked at the picture they were reminded of their adoring kiss and passionate embrace.

"Yes, well, it seemed appropriate." Sherlock stated simply, pressing his lips together as he leaned back on his heels once more. "Oh, Captain, I managed to find an associate of the Carles family, who admitted to having given them a car from his uncle's garage. The license plate number has been texted to the astute Detective Bell, who requires your presence."

Gregson immediately pressed his hand to his breast pocket, before realising that he was no longer wearing his jacket. "My phone's in my jacket pocket, which is hanging on your coat rack" he stated simply, closing his eyes at the knowledge. "Well, I'd best go and supervise this search, then. Thank you, Holmes" he stated, nodding his head slightly. "And thank you, Miss Watson, you've been invaluable. And thanks for showing me around, it's great what you've done here. Don't forget, you call me if you need anything, either of you. Got it?" He asked, moving forwards slowly. Sherlock replied instantly and Joan nodded politely, smiling gratefully at him.

"I'll walk you to the door, Captain" Sherlock stated, as Gregson moved past him. "I'll be right back, Watson, and will fill you in on all of the details. You would not believe the lengths to which this associate of the Carles' went to evade capture, it was quite funny, I am sure you will agree." Joan smiled, nodding to him as he followed Gregson upstairs, the sound of their voices drifting slowly away.

Joan placed one hand lovingly on her abdomen and continued to stare out of the window, before feeling overcome with tiredness all of a sudden. She sighed, and moved slowly towards one of the armchairs, which she gently eased herself into, her hand remaining on her abdomen, caressing it gently. As she sat down and leaned back, she caught a glimpse of the items on the table. The letters. She had completely forgotten about them. She drew them towards the edge of the table with her left hand, before allowing them to fall into her palm, and pulling them towards her. She examined the first one for a few moments, and turned it over, satisfied that it was just a cell phone bill. She sighed, dropping it back on the table, before examining the second. It was different to the first, slightly larger, and written on expensive pale-yellow paper. The name and address was handwritten, and there was no return address. Joan also noticed that there was no postmark, meaning that the letter had been hand-delivered. She frowned in confusion, before turning the envelope over and opening it with caution, pressing her fingers inside to examine the contents. There was a single folded sheet of paper, which appeared to be a hand-written note. The paper was thick and expensive, and she drew it warily from the envelope, before unfolding it and reading it carefully. Her heart stopped as she finished it, and she allowed it to fall to her lap, breathing in heavily as it hit her thigh. She glanced down, her wide eyes running over the words once again.

_Miss Watson,_

_Warm greetings, I hope all is well with you and your child. Your condition is of the utmost interest to me, especially considering the role you played in removing me from my designs relating to my own child. I have not forgotten, nor shall I allow such an action to go unnoticed or unpunished._

_I will see you very soon, please have no doubt of it. Although, the speed at which this encounter takes place depends very much on you. If you tell anyone of this letter, Miss Watson, your lover will pay the highest price, and you would have succeeded in severing yet another bond between parent and child._

_I hope your pregnancy is progressing well, and that you and your baby are in perfect health. For the time-being at least._

_Yours,_

_._

Joan read the letter once more, her eyes darting over each word, before picking it up and placing it back into the envelope. She could feel panic rising inside her, and had no idea of what to do. The letter was clear in it's meaning, and the threat against Sherlock and the baby was more than she could bear. She needed time to think, to consider her options, and decide upon the best course of action to protect those she loved. As this thought entered her mind, she felt a reassuring kick in her lower abdomen, causing her lip to quiver slightly as she covered the spot tenderly with her hand.

"Watson?" Sherlock called, his heavy footsteps descending the staircase. She froze, her fingers hovering over the envelope. When he called her name for a second time, she picked up the envelope, placed it under the phone bill, and held them both in her hands, turning just in time to look up towards him as he entered the room. "Everything alright?" he asked, his eyes bright with energy and excitement.

"Yes. Yes, absolutely" she replied, after swallowing once. "Sherlock, I-" she paused, unable to complete her sentence. She had considered telling him of the letter, but found herself instantly remembering the threat to his life if she did so. She chewed the inside of her cheek, and was unaware of anything else until she felt his presence in front of her, and she looked up to meet his concerned expression.

"Is something wrong, Watson?" he asked in a gentle and tentative manner, causing Joan to use everything she had within her to resist telling him the truth.

Joan recovered herself quickly, looked up towards him, and offered him a small smile. "I think that the changing table needs to be moved slightly to the right, it isn't quite in the centre." She stared straight ahead of her, towards the dressing table, and Sherlock quickly turned around, tilting his head as he examined it, before turning back to face her. "Don't you think?"


	19. Chapter 19

Over the next few weeks Joan was battling an inner turmoil which she found to be almost too much to bear. She had told Sherlock that she was feeling increasingly tired, in order to explain the additional time she was spending in her room, trying to figure things out. She had hidden the letter between her mattress and the bed-sheet, knowing that Sherlock's deep-rooted aversion to laundry would prevent him from ever locating it. He had accepted her explanation readily, and was glad that she was no longer fighting her tiredness. At first he was slightly perplexed as to this sudden change in behaviour, but after thinking it over, and consulting Captain Gregson, he realised that it was normal for women who were approaching their seventh-month of pregnancy to be experiencing additional fatigue. He was reassured by this, and thought little more about it.

Joan consoled herself by acknowledging that what she had said was not strictly untrue: she had been feeling more tired recently, just not to the extent she was making out. She would use this time to read over the letter, analyse it linguistically and physically, and attempt to identify the sender and their motivation. From the personal language used, as well as the style of the writing, Joan believed that it was likely that the writer was female. The reference to children and separation made her think of two possible candidates: Emily Lake, the counsellor whose plot to avenge her son's murder was foiled by Sherlock and Joan; and Senator Mitchell Harper, whose attempt to kidnap his daughter from the custody of her mother was uncovered by Joan. Both of these individuals had the motive to send such a letter, and make such a threat. And they had each lost someone they loved, making the people Joan loved likely targets for their anger. Due to this particular approach, Joan believed that the sender was Emily Lake, and sought to prove it. She had made an appointment with the prison in which she had been remanded to see her, which was scheduled for a little over a week's time. She was nervous at this prospect, but knew that it was unavoidable. She needed to see Emily Lake, talk to her, and decide whether she was the person she was looking for. The thought made her breathing increase and her body gently tremble, and she found herself wrapping her hands protectively across her abdomen. She remained in her room, or downstairs in the nursery, for the next few days.

It had been almost four weeks since the letter had arrived, and Joan had received no other form of contact, threat or demand in any form, which relieved her greatly. It was the day of Joan's doctor's appointment, and the day before her meeting with Ms Lake, causing her to feel a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Joan was in her room, dressing herself after her shower, and getting ready to leave for her appointment. She could hear Sherlock pacing the landing, his excitement and apprehension revealed in his footsteps. Joan pulled on her black blazer and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She appeared perfectly fine, to herself as least. She forced a small smile, which she held for several seconds, staring at it with intent. She was determined to appear fine, for Sherlock, for the doctor, and for Ms Lake tomorrow. She had no intention of crumbling, and was confident that she could figure out what was going on, and deal with it in a way which protected Sherlock and the baby from the threats of the writer. She had no idea of how true or real those threats were, but due to the personal nature of the letter, she believed it to be valid, and was not going to take any chances. She looked at her reflection once more, her glassy eyes appearing tired and weary, and sighed.

"Watson!" Called a voice from outside her room, as footsteps approached her door. "The taxi is here. Are you almost ready?"

"I'm coming!" she yelled, her voice sounding confident and assured. She glanced at her mirror once more, reflecting on the conviction of her tone. She almost believed it, too. She turned on the spot and walked over to her bed, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, before walking towards the bedroom door. As she opened it, Sherlock turned from his spot at the top of the stairs and walked towards her, his bright eyes glowing with anticipation. She offered him a small smile, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, and walked towards him. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he was watching her with a pleasant expression. But as she came closer to him, he noticed her eyes, and frowned slightly. She appeared to be both tired and slightly upset, and her gaze was not able to meet his own, and certainly not maintain it.

"Is everything alright, Watson?" he asked, concern present in his tone.

Joan looked up to him immediately, meeting his gaze, and offered him a small smile. "Yeah, yeah of course. I just... these appointments make me nervous. I don't know why, I know everything is fine, I just..."

Sherlock took a step towards her, and she found herself overcome by his presence. She felt instantly calmed and comforted, and the sound of his gentle breathing relaxed her notably. "It is perfectly normal to be concerned, Watson. As we have observed in the past few months, it is easy for our concerns and fears to get the better of us, and so it is always best to confide in the other if there is something troubling you." He was speaking calmly but with great strength, and she nodded in agreement. "What is it that you are worried about, Watson?" he asked tentatively, his eyes brimming with compassion.

Joan looked up at him once more and shook her head slowly. "I'm not, it's fine... it's just that the further I get into the pregnancy the more I realise that, at some point, I am going to actually have to deliver this baby." She averted her gaze from his and looked to the staircase, checking her watch as she did so. "The taxi is outside, we should-"

"The taxi will wait, Watson" Sherlock interrupted, reaching out his hand and taking her own into his, and squeezing it tightly. "I would by lying to you if I said that I understood what you will be going through in a few months time, when the baby is born. From what I have read and researched, I know it to be a particularly frightening, painful and unpredictable event, as I am sure you are aware, as a former doctor. But what I am certain of, and what I know to be true, is that you are the strongest, more resilient woman I have ever met. You can do this, Watson, and that is without question. And I will be with you, if... if that is what you-"

"Yes" she stated confidently, gently squeezing his hand back. "It would be great if you could be there. As long as that is what you want, though. You don't have to if you'd rather not. I understand."

Sherlock smiled slightly, looking down at their entwined hands as he spoke. "I meant everything I said, Watson, about being there for you both. I would like to be involved in everything that you feel comfortable with allowing, including this. But if you do not wish me to be present, for any reason, I will not argue or object. So please, think it over. You don't have to decide now."

Watson was quiet for a few moments, watching as Sherlock's eyes lifted slowly from their hands to her face before responding. "I would love for you to be there, Sherlock, if that is what you want." She smiled at him, and he nodded in response, his eyes shining. For the first time in recent weeks, she began to believe that this was going to be alright. Looking up at his beaming eyes and kind expression, she considered telling him about the letter. But before she could get beyond the preliminary phases of her thoughts, the sound of a horn honking from outside drew both of their attention to the front door.

"Apparently it won't wait" Joan stated quietly, as she released Sherlock's hand from her grasp, and descended the stairs. He watched after her for a moment, musing over their conversation, before nodding and following her from the building.

They arrived at the hospital shortly afterwards, where they were informed that they would be seeing Dr Kennedy again. Joan thanked the receptionist kindly, as the younger woman explained that Joan's regular doctor was tied up with another patient. Joan nodded once more, and was led towards the seating area by Sherlock. A few minutes later Dr Kennedy emerged from his office, greeting the couple warmly, and showing them through. Joan entered first, and sat herself at one of the seats behind his desk, before being joined by Sherlock. As he sat down, she turned to face him, smiling nervously at him. He gave her a reassuring look, and placed her own hand in his. Their entwined hands rested in the gap between the chairs, which remained unnoticed by the physician, whose large desk obstructed the view. Dr Kennedy clasped his hands together and placed them on his desk, staring at Sherlock and Joan in turn, before focusing on the latter and beginning to speak.

"It's lovely to see you again, Miss Watson. I haven't seen you in, what, three months?" he asked, which Joan confirmed. "Yes, yes you are-" he paused, consulting a file on his desk "almost twenty-eight weeks, perfect, yes. I can see from Dr Costello's notes that you have been visiting her regularly, and that everything appears to be fine... your blood pressure has been improving and is now completely normal, and all of your blood-work has come back perfect. The baby is developing healthily, and... ah, you have opted not to know the sex?"

"Yes, we'd like it to be a surprise" Joan responded pleasantly, adjusting herself slightly in her seat. "Although Sherlock is convinced that the baby is a boy."

The doctor glanced over at Sherlock, smiled, and nodded. "I see. Well, I will have to be very careful upon my examination of you, not to reveal the truth, won't I?"

"Good luck, doctor" Sherlock replied, nodding. "I will you the utmost success." He looked towards Joan, who changed her temporary smile to a look of warning and caution.

The doctor laughed in response, pushing himself from his seat and crossing the room. "Well, Miss Watson, I expect you know the routine by now. Are you happy for me to perform an ultrasound?" Joan nodded eagerly, and slowly began to ease herself out of her chair, which she was finding more and more difficult these days. She and Sherlock were still holding hands, and he helped her to her feet.

"I'm okay, really" she replied kindly, looking up at Sherlock as she crossed the room to the examination table, pulling herself up onto it. She lay back slowly, resting her head on the headrest, and staring up at the ceiling. She felt Sherlock approach her with caution, and she turned her head slowly to face him, offering him a small smile. Sherlock appeared to be nervous, which confused her slightly. She was worried that he had misinterpreted her previous comment to him, and had taken offence, which was certainly not her intention. But then she saw him lead back on his heels and tap his fingers nervously on his thigh once the doctor began to set up the ultrasound machine. She looked towards him, reached out her right hand, and held his tightly. This movement was unexpected for him, and he visibly shook, before turning back to face her and allowing his hand to relax into hers. They stood like this for several moments until Dr Kennedy turned back towards Joan, and began to convey some familiar instructions to her.

"Miss Watson, would you please move your shirt up... thank you". Joan complied, moving her blouse up past her abdomen, revealing her curved stomach. Although her pregnancy was visible, she had not gained a considerable amount of weight, and her skin was smooth and flawless. Joan could feel Sherlock's hand weaken in her grasp, and she followed his gaze to her abdomen. He was staring at it with wide eyes, which glances at her stomach with curiosity. Joan squeezed his hand gently, which seemed to bring him from his trance, and he returned the gesture, nodding towards her before facing the doctor.

Dr Kennedy approached Joan slowly, placing some of the cold gel on her stomach as he moved the wand across her abdomen. Joan's eyes flickered from her abdomen to the screen near her feet, where the image of her baby was shown. She studied it for a moment, quickly reviewing the progress and health of her child, which she saw to be fine. Sherlock felt her hand relax slightly, and she exhaled, closing her eyes briefly before opening them once more and staring at the screen. She and Sherlock remained mesmerised by the image until Dr Kennedy passed her some tissues, as well as two copies of the images, and placed his hand on the examination table.

"Everything is fine, Miss Watson. The baby is developing just as we'd like, and is in perfect health. The heartbeat is strong, and the movements are frequent and confident. You have quite the character in there." Joan smiled, and Sherlock's eyes darted nervously around the room before he rested his gaze upon the ground. He stared at the floor for less than a moment before returning his gaze to the doctor. "Would it be alright if I take your blood pressure and check your heart rate?" he asked Joan, as she eased herself into a sitting position, removing her hand from Sherlock's.

"Yes, of course" she stated, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear as she swung her legs across the table until they were resting over the edge, and she was facing the wall opposite. She removed her blazer, allowing it to fall back onto the table, and rolled up her sleeves. The doctor approached her with his stethoscope, and Sherlock moved a few steps back, resting his arms by his sides, and tapping his fingers upon his thigh as he watched the doctor listening to Joan's heart-rate. After this, he took her blood pressure. After having removed the device from her arm and placed the equipment on his desk, Dr Kennedy moved towards Joan and placed one hand on the examination table, before beginning to speak.

"Miss Watson, your heart-rate is faster than I would like, and your BP is lower than it was the first time I saw you." He spoke calmly but in a concerning and serious tone, which drew Joan and Sherlock's gazes immediately to his face. "Now, based on your most recent blood-work, which was analysed last week, you are in perfect health. Of course, I will be required to draw some more blood for re-testing, but I do not believe that will reveal anything amiss." Joan nodded, her eyes falling to the floor as she anticipated his next question. Sherlock took a few steps forward, until he was standing by her side, and placed his hand over her own. "Miss Watson, are you under an unusual or undue amount of stress at the moment? Is something troubling you?"

Joan swallowed, her hands gripping the edge of the examination table with increased force, causing Sherlock to feel her agitation. He suspected that her symptoms were due to her concerns over giving birth, but there was something about her reaction now which, for the first time, caused him to question this. She seemed worried, embarrassed, almost ashamed. As a former doctor, she was aware that her fears were natural, and something discussed between women and their doctors daily. So why was she reacting like this?

"Watson?" Sherlock asked gently, as she had not yet responded to Dr Kennedy's question. He turned slightly to face her more directly, and held her hand tighter before repeating her name.

Joan was terrified, her thoughts immediately drifting towards the letter. She had no idea that her health had been compromised by recent events, and the prospect concerned her greatly. She was aware that the medical issues she faced were not long-term, and could be dealt with. Despite the fact that the baby was healthy, if she continued to allow her current situation to make herself unwell, she knew that her child's well-being would soon be compromised. She was at a loss of what to do, and her mind was racing. She was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of Sherlock's voice, and the reassuring grip of his hand upon hers. Joan turned towards Dr Kennedy and began to speak. "I'm fine, I just... I've been worried about... about actually having the baby, physically I mean" she paused for a moment, watching the doctor as he turned slowly towards her and nodded his head in understanding. "As my due date approaches, it has been playing on my mind even more. I know it's crazy, as a former doctor I know exactly what to expect. In many respects I am more prepared than most. But-"

"But that doesn't change the fact that you're afraid" finished the doctor, moving removing his hand from the examination table and moving closer to Joan. "Miss Watson, you have no reason to be ashamed of your fears. It is a worrying time, and there is support available to you. If you feel afraid or uncertain, please, call me, call Dr Costello, or talk to your partner. Anytime, Miss Watson. If there is something that is worrying you about the baby, pregnancy, or labour, we want to hear about it. We want to help you. The medical side is just one aspect of our jobs. Which, due to your former profession, I am certain you understand." Joan nodded and thanked the doctor, who moved over to his desk, opened a drawer, and removed something from it. He walked back towards Joan and handed her a small white card. "These are my contact details, Miss Watson, as well as my personal home phone number and email address. You get in touch whenever you need to, alright?" Joan thanked him once more, and assured him that she would. He then drew her blood whilst she focused on the painting on the wall at the back of the room, before informing her that everything was finished, drawing her out of her thoughts. Sherlock moved towards her to help her from the table, but she eased herself from it independently, before turning back to pick up her blazer. She then thanked the doctor once more, shaking his hand before leaving. Sherlock repeated this action, and followed Joan from the room and through the waiting area.

By the time he caught up with her, he placed a hand gently upon her shoulder, and drew her attention towards him. "Watson, Watson talk to me" he implored kindly, his voice etched with concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I told you, I... It's difficult to talk about, okay? It's not something that..."

"That I understand?" he stated, in a low yet compassionate voice. "Then please talk to me about it, Watson, and allow me to attempt to assist you." Joan opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by the ringing of Sherlock's phone. He almost didn't answer it, but she insisted. He sighed deeply as he accepted the call.

"Yes, Captain? What can-" he stopped speaking suddenly, and his eyes widened and shone. "Yes, I understand, thank you. No, no, we will be there presently." Sherlock hung up, placing the phone back in his pocket before turning to Joan.

"That was Captain Gregson. The three men and their female associate have been apprehended. They have confessed to their offences, and the files have been recovered." Joan sighed in relief, nodding slowly.

"Good, I'm glad. So what does he need us for?"

"Apparently Ms Carter has made an appearance at the station, and is quite frantic. Gregson was able to calm her, and he is sitting with her in his office. He was hoping that you would be able to talk to her, as you built up such a rapport with her before." Joan nodded in understanding.

"Of course, yes. Let's go." She stated, her voice calm and even. Sherlock was about the broach the subject of their previous discussion, but knew it was futile. She would not open up to him if she were made to feel trapped, which he had no intention of doing. Nor would she welcome such a discussion when the emotional well-being of Mrs Carter hung in the balance. So instead of resisting, he acquiesced, and led her towards the front of the hospital, where he hailed a cab which took them directly to the precinct.

Sherlock and Joan strolled confidently through the precinct and made their way directly to Captain Gregson's office, where they could see the back of the figure of their friend through the glass, from his seat on the couch. In front of him was clearly another person, who he was offering tea too. Joan knocked quietly upon the glass, drawing Gregson's attention towards her. She witnessed the expression of relief which appeared to flood his features, before he turned and said something to Ms Carter, and walked towards the door.

"Thanks, Miss Watson. I'm sorry to both you, I just thought you'd be more helpful than I would. She's really upset, and I was hoping you could-"

"Of course, it's no problem, Captain" Joan reassured kindly. He smiled gratefully and nodded.

"I owe you one" he stated firmly. "Holmes, do you wanna come and observe the interviews with the suspects whilst Miss Watson and Ms Carter talk?" Gregson asked.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, his decision not quite made until Joan turned around and offered him a comforting smile. "Of course, Captain. Watson, call me if you require assistance." Joan nodded, watching as Gregson moved from in front of her towards Sherlock, as they made their way to the interview rooms. She then placed her hand upon the door handle and entered, which drew the attention of Melinda Carter towards her.

"Oh, Miss Watson, I'm sorry-" she began, tearing small pieces from the crumpled tissue in her hands. "I just... I heard about the arrests on the news, and I-" she paused, unable to control her sobbing any longer. Joan walked over to her immediately, seating herself beside her on the couch, offering her statements of reassurance and consolation.

"It's alright, Melinda, it's okay. They're in custody now, and the evidence the police have against them is irrefutable. They will go to prison, as will your ex-husband. And you will be safe, Melinda. And so will Amy." Melinda looked up, uncertainty present in her eyes.

"If he did this once, Miss Watson, he could do it again. What if he hires someone else? What if he-" she broke off, clamping her hand across her mouth in a futile attempt to prevent herself from crying. Joan reached her hand across to the startled young woman and rubbed her back reassuringly, gently reassuring her.

"Melinda, you are safe, and so is Amy. He cannot harm you. He will not be in a position to attempt anything. His designs were to take his daughter to raise her away from you, which he cannot do from behind bars, which is where he will be for the next twenty years at least." Joan spoke calmly and evenly, and could feel Melinda relax under her hand, as her sobbing gently abated.

"Amy's so vulnerable, though. So young. The dangers, the... I... I don't-" Melinda paused, her breathing becoming uneven as she began to tremble.

"Amy fought that man, with great courage" Joan began, speaking gently and enticingly. "She fought him so hard that she pulled a gold chain from his neck, which is the piece of evidence which will seal his fate. Your daughter is a fight, Melinda. Just like her mother."

Melinda smiled tearfully up at Joan, nodding slowly as she continued to dab her eyes with her rapidly degrading tissue. Joan reached into her bag and pulled out a small packet of tissues and handed them to her. "Here" she said kindly. "It's going to be alright, you know. Really. You have support, you have love and you have protection. And so does Amy." Melinda nodded in agreement, before pressing her lips together and rising to stand. Joan sat meditatively for a few moments, going over her words, and realising their relevance in her own present situation. She too was loved and protected, as was Sherlock, and their baby. As she pondered this, she became aware that Melinda was standing next to her, looking down upon her expectantly. Joan rose from her seat, offered her some further words of reassurance, and told her to call her should she need to. Melinda assured her that she would, thanking her once more before leaving the office. Joan smiled as she watched her walk through the precinct and from the building, the strength of this woman giving her confidence. She wondered whether she was making a mistake about not telling Sherlock about the letter, especially considering nothing had come of it since. Perhaps she would tell him after her meeting with Ms Lake, when she knew more definitively where she stood. As these thoughts entered her mind, she felt the soft vibrating of her phone against her thigh. At first she assumed it was Sherlock, and reached into the pocket to retrieve the phone, answering it without checking the caller ID.

"Joan Watson" she stated pleasantly, before waiting for a few moments as no one responded. "Hello?"

"Hello, Miss Watson" came the voice, distorted by some kind of device. "Did you get my letter?"


	20. Chapter 20

It had been four weeks since the three robbers and their female accomplice had been apprehended, and they had all been charged with murder, robbery, possession of stolen and unlicensed firearms and an array of other crimes, which the police and the DA were certain would lead to their conviction. The information which they stole was recovered, and had not been accessed by the robbers, despite their attempts. The confidence of the people whose medical information was kept on the files was maintained, and they expressed their deepest gratitude to the police, Sherlock and Joan for their skill, timeliness and discretion. The widow and two adult children of the security officer who was killed in the commission of the first robbery also made an appearance at the precinct, wanting to thank Captain Gregson and his team personally for their work, and for ensuring that those responsible for the crimes were brought to justice. This brought comfort and satisfaction to the police, especially to Gregson and Bell, who were able to witness first-hand the long-term and person affects of their work. Sherlock also seemed to be touched by the kindness and candidness of the family of the guard, as well as their genuine gratitude and warmth. Joan was also grateful for their kindness, and was consoled by the fact that they appeared to be coping well, and supporting each other as a family. But something else had been playing on her mind.

The strange phone call she had received a month ago had deeply unsettled her, despite its ominous nature and brevity. After having asked whether she had received the letter, the caller immediately hung up, and Joan had stood motionless in the precinct, pressing the phone tightly to her cheek for several moments, before recovering herself and walking towards the interview rooms to meet Sherlock and Gregson. She had been unsettled and worried for the weeks that followed, which she attempted to hide from Sherlock, with varying success. Whenever he asked about her concerns, or if she was alright, she could not bring herself to lie to him completely. Instead, she discussed things with him that were on her mind, but never the main factor, which she was determined to conceal. They discussed her concerns regarding the baby, the nursery, and the nanny who they were considering hiring to help to look after their child whilst they work. All of these were things which Joan was worried about and, despite the fact that she felt unable to discuss the letter and the phone call with him, she felt as if small weights were being gradually lifted from her every time they discussed one of her other fears. Sherlock listened intently, and was very calm and receptive, as he considered her concerns and voiced his own, before discussing their options and coming to a satisfactory solution. His happiness, contentment and the way in which he was coping with her pregnancy was reassuring, and he seemed far more confident and less self-doubting than he had been previously. And she was determined not to compromise this.

Despite her desires not to confide in Sherlock, due to her fears that it would compromise how well he was dealing with their current situation, Joan soon realised that she could no longer keep the letter and the phone call completely to herself. In the weeks that followed the phone call, she had attempted to research the letter further, as well as the call itself, but was unable to get very far. She had decided against visiting Ms Lake, for the time-being, at least, as she believed it would be counter productive. Whoever sent the message clearly wanted to frighten her, and by visiting Ms Lake, she may be feeding the psychosis of the woman who she believed could be responsible. However, due to her own lack of evidence, and the lack of progress in her own private investigation into the letter and the phone call, Joan found herself in a taxi, later one summer night, bound for the precinct. It had taken her two weeks to realise that she needed further assistance, and another two to bring herself to approach Gregson with what she knew would be a difficult task.

Joan arrived at the precinct shortly after eight o'clock at night, knowing that the officers would be changing shifts at this time, so she and Gregson would have some privacy. Despite the time, darkness had not yet descended upon the city, and the buildings were bathed in the warm, yellow glow of natural light. After paying the driver, Joan stepped from the taxi and gazed up at the tall buildings for a moment, admiring the scene. She inhaled deeply, before crossing the pavement and making her way slowly into the precinct, heading directly for Gregson's office. There were a few officers in the precinct, none of whom she realised, and she quickly saw that Gregson was alone in his office. She felt a slight degree of relief, which was soon replaced by the fear and apprehension she had been battling. She knew that Gregson would want to help, and be grateful that she asked, but she also knew that the issue itself was problematic. Not only would Gregson be incredibly worried, he would be frustrated that she had not approached him sooner, and conflicted over the fact that this information had been kept from Sherlock. But she would deal with that later, she reasoned. Right now, they needed to have this conversation. Joan pursed her lips together, walked across the room to Gregson's office, and knocked confidently.

"Yeah" came a voice from inside, causing Joan to open the door quickly and move into the room, before closing it firmly behind her. Captain Gregson was standing with his back to the door, bent over his desk and tidying some papers. Upon hearing the door close, he turned around.

"Miss Watson, hey" he stated, turning to face her whilst holding some papers in his hands. "I didn't know you were coming over. Is this about tomorrow?" Joan shook her head slowly. The 'tomorrow' which Gregson was referring to was a dinner arranged at Gregson's instigation, which would celebrate Joan's pregnancy and the baby's imminent arrival. She and Sherlock had been grateful for the kind gesture, and were looking forward to the evening. They would be eating at one of her favourite restaurants, _La Deluxe_, with Gregson, Bell, Alfredo and Miss Hudson. The evening was something which she had been looking forward to for a while now, and it became something which she focused on in times of fear and uncertainty. She had been hoping to have this whole incident dealt with by then, but it was not to be.

"No, no it's not that, I-" she broke off, realising how nervous and fragile her own voice sounded. She sighed in frustration. She had intended to come in and not betray the fear she was experiencing, in order to minimise the effect of her news on Captain Gregson. She looked up towards him and watched as he placed the files and papers on the desk, before taking a few steps towards her.

"Won't you sit down, Miss Watson?" he asked gently, indicating towards the couch. She nodded politely, before removing her jacket and easing herself slowly into the comfort of the cream couch. As she did so, Gregson put his hand on a chair near his desk and carried it with one hand across the room, placing it in front of the sofa, before sitting down and clasping his hands together, watching her intently. "So, what can I do for you?"

Joan waited a few moments, breathing in to compose herself. She had absolutely no intention of revealing just how frightened she was, and was determined to maintain her composure and her strength. "I have a problem that I need to discuss with you" she began tentatively, shifting in her seat whilst clasping and unclasping her hands. "I haven't told anyone, not even Sherlock. I should have come to someone sooner but I thought I could handle it, deal with it by myself. But I've come to realise that that's not the case." She paused for a moment, looking up to view Gregson's reaction. He was clearly perplexed, but his full attention was upon her, and he nodded slowly for her to continue.

"About two months ago I received a letter" she began, placing her hand in her bag and removing an evidence bag which contained the letter, and another which contained the envelope. She handed them to Gregson, explaining what information she had been able to uncover from them by her own independent investigation. Gregson nodded as he listened, as his eyes scanned the note and widened with interest and concern. Joan knew when he reached the threat, as his eyes darkened and he stared up towards her, placing the evidence in his lap and watching her with wonder.

"You've had this for two months and didn't tell anybody? Why would you not-"

"The author made it quite clear what would happen if I talked. At first I thought that I could not risk it, and then I began to realise that the threat, and the letter itself, was not something I could handle alone." She paused for a moment, selecting her next words carefully. "A few weeks ago I got a phone call, it was anonymous, untraceable, as far as I can tell. The person simply stated my name and asked whether I have received their letter, before hanging up. Since then I have had a few calls which I assumed to be wrong numbers, as the called hung up as soon as I picked up the phone. But now, I... I think it may be part of something larger. And I was hoping to ask your advice on the issue."

Gregson watched her with an expression of both amazement and confusion. He had listened carefully and with interest to all that she had said, and had read the letter through twice. He understood her concerns, he understood the nature of the issue, but the one thing which he could not fathom was why she had not come to his sooner.

"Miss Watson, why is this the first time you're telling me about this? Why have you and Sherlock kept this hidden?"

Joan looked up at the Captain with guilty yet resolute eyes, breathing in deeply before responding with confidence. "Sherlock doesn't know, Captain. I haven't told him. The letter made it quite clear what would happen if I did, and I have no intention of compromising his safety. I-"

"By not telling us, by not allowing us to help you, his safety has been compromised. So has yours, and so has your baby's." Gregson was speaking gently but firmly, and Joan looked away for a moment before nodding in agreement. "This isn't... I don't mean to criticise, Miss Watson. I understand your actions and I totally get why you kept this from us all and tried to figure it out by yourself. But there is too much at stake for you to handle this alone."

"I know. I do, I really do, I understand that" she stammered, adjusting herself in her seat as she looked up at him once more. "And that's why I am here. This is too much, you're right. And I am sorry that I have just sprung this on you, but I... I need your help."

Gregson nodded slowly, and gave her a small, reassuring smile. "And you'll have it. No question." He sounded firm and confident, and this reassure Joan greatly. She clasped her hands tightly together and rested them in her lap, waiting for him to continue talking or ask her questions about the letter and the phone calls. As she placed her hands in her lap, they rested at the bottom of her abdomen, revealing the changes in her body. Gregson smiled.

"You're, what, seven and a half months now?" he asked kindly and with interest. Joan's eyes brightened at the reference, and she looked up with confidence.

"Eight. I just hit the thirty-two week mark." She unclasped her hands and rested her right hand of the top of her stomach, caressing it gently. She then smiled, clasped her hands together again and turned back to the Captain.

"I understand that position I am putting you in, and I am sorry. I also know that the delay in my passing this information on to you will make an investigation even more difficult. But I've told you what I've found so far, as well as who I suspect is behind this. I'm sure it's Emily Lake, though. It has to be, it's her style, it's... it's her. But as she's in prison, that will be difficult to prove. My affiliation with the police certainly won't allow me access to confidential files or prisoner reports, so perhaps that is something you could look into? And find out if she has been making any calls, sending any mail?"

Gregson nodded slowly, shifting in his seat as he glanced over to the evidence and the reports which she had brought him. He admired her skills, her thoroughness, and her powers of observation and detection. She was more capable than she realised, he thought.

"I'll do that immediately, Miss Watson. I'll call the prison, get 'em to search her cell, and have them send me a report on her most recent activities. In the meantime, I'll have the letter taken down to evidence and analysed more expertly. I'll also look into the calls you've been getting, and put a trace on your phone, if that's alright?"

"Of course, yes." Joan responded immediately, grateful that his reprimanding was over, not that she believed she did not deserve it. Far from it. But she was grateful that he was willing to help her, despite her delay in sharing the information with him.

"Now, I can do this fairly discretely, Miss Watson, and will be able to let you know within the next day or so where we stand. But I really do think you should tell Sherlock. It would be better coming from you, you know that, right?"

Joan considered this for a moment, running his words through her mind and thinking of the best way to approach the situation. He was right. Sherlock needed to know, he had to be told. And soon, too, otherwise he would find out by some other means, and that was not what she wanted. "After you've found something, I will tell him everything, I promise" she began, leaning forward slightly in her seat. "I just want to see what you find out so I have something solid to tell him when we do have this discussion. I think that would be better for both of us, really."

Gregson nodded. "Sure, yeah, makes sense. But please tell him, Miss Watson. He would want to know and to help you. And he's probably one of the best guys for the job." Joan agreed, thanking captain Gregson as she rose from her seat. He stood also, and walked towards the door to open it for her.

"Thank you, Captain. I'm really grateful for this, and I hope you understand why I felt I couldn't come to you immediately." She stated as she reached the door, turning slightly towards him when

she was standing in the door frame.

"I get it, really" he stated kindly. "But you need to let us help you, Miss Watson, both of you" as he said this his glance fell to Joan's abdomen, "now more than ever."

"You're right, of course you're right" she sighed tiredly as she adjusted her grip on her bag. "I'll see you tomorrow night. _La Deluxe_ at seven, okay?"

"You got it. Bell and I will be there, and we're looking forward to it. I'll see you soon, Miss Watson, and please call me if you need anything, alright?" Joan nodded, thanking him once more, before leaving the precinct and returning to the brownstone. She felt as though a weight had been lifted from her, and was extremely grateful for the Captain's kindness and understanding, as well as his willingness to look into the issue immediately. She felt calmer and more relaxed than she had in weeks, and smiled warmly to herself as she opened the front door of the brownstone.

"Ah, Watson! You've returned!" Came a voice from the kitchen area. Joan called back to Sherlock, before walking through the living area and towards the kitchen. As she did so, she removed her bag and jacket and placed them on the back of the armchair, adjusting her black dress as she walked through to meet Sherlock. Before she could speak, she stared in awe at the table, and sighed in surprise.

The dining table in the kitchen was adorned with a beautiful white tablecloth and tall, elegant silver candles, which were burning with bright, orange lights. The table was laid for two, and the chairs at either side of the table were new, matching the interior of the room. The places on the table were marked with white and silver place-mats and silver cutlery, and an array of different types of glasses stood prominently upon the table. Sherlock was standing near the stove, and was dishing up some food onto the nicest dishes he owned. He turned to greet her, smiling with awkwardness and slight embarrassment, as he added the finishing touches to the food before carrying it towards the table. The room looked and smelled wonderful, and Joan felt herself drawn towards the table which was now graced with the presence of the wonderful food which Sherlock had been preparing. Joan walked into the room with caution, not because she was particularly nervous, but because she sensed that Sherlock was. She smiled warmly at him, which he returned, as he placed the plates upon the table and then stood to face her. She stumbled over her words before looking towards the table, her attention devoted to the plates. Sherlock had made one of her favourite dishes, chicken wrapped in pastry with fresh green vegetables and mashed potatoes. She could feel herself becoming hungry, or perhaps it was that she was acknowledging a hunger which she had been suppressing due to her previous concerns, which were now partially abated.

"Sherlock, what... what is this?" She asked through a smile, looking up at him curiously.

"Well, I... I was thinking about tomorrow evening, Watson, which will be nice, I am sure. And then it struck me that, perhaps, it would be nice to have a small dinner-celebration of our own, for you and for the baby. So I... I thought I would make us dinner, and we could eat, talk, relax, and... and just enjoy each other's company. Despite living together, Watson, we seldom get to just sit and talk. It's something that I enjoy, and I hope you do too."

Joan smiled warmly at him, and was touched by his words and this gesture. She took a few steps towards him, placed her right hand gently upon his arm, and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. She could feel him relaxing slightly, and his nervousness seemed to be disappearing with each moment that they spent together.

"Thank you, Sherlock" she began, moving slowly towards the table. Sherlock strode in front of her, causing her to stop suddenly, and he pulled out her chair for her. She stood still for a moment, slightly bemused at this gesture, before accepting the seat and looking back up towards him. There was something different about him that evening. His actions, movements and demeanour were very much the same, but there was something different. It took Joan a few minutes of observation before she could put her finger on it, but once she had identified it, she was surprised that it had taken her so long. It was his eyes. He had always had the most beautiful, wide eyes, which completely captured her attention and devotion. But tonight, they were positively glowing, brimming with excitement and slight nervousness. But more than that, she detected something else, something she recognised but was unused to seeing in his eyes. It was happiness. During the evening, their dinner, their talking by the fire afterwards, and sitting close to each other on the red couch afterwards, Joan became aware of just how happy Sherlock seemed. This, in turn, made her happy, and secure, and reassured. In those precious hours they spent together, she almost forgot about the letter and the phone calls, but not quite. The memory of those cruel and frightening words on the page returned to her temporarily, moments before she fell asleep on the red couch, falling gently into Sherlock's lap. He sat with her for a few more hours, running his fingers through her hair, and admiring her sleeping figure. One of his arms was draped across her waist, his hand resting lightly upon her abdomen, which fascinated him. Suddenly, and without warning, Sherlock felt movement from inside her stomach. Their baby was kicking confidently against his hand. His eyes moved from Joan's face towards her abdomen, where he moved his hand slowly across her, tracing the baby's moments. He was amazed by this, particularly how strong the baby was. After this had been going on for a few seconds, Joan woke up, pushing herself up groggily, and placing her own hand over Sherlock's, which was still resting on her stomach. They looked at each other for a moment, and smiled.

"I should go to bed" she stated, tiredness evident in her tone. Sherlock nodded, and moved himself slowly from the sofa, before walking with her up the stairs and towards her bedroom. Once more, he lingered uncertainly in the doorway until she turned slightly, and looked at him with weary eyes. "Would you like to come in? And stay with me?" She asked kindly, which Sherlock accepted immediately. She removed her dress and pulled on a baggy blue shirt, before walking slowly towards the bed and lying down upon the side which they had unofficially decided was hers. Sherlock waited until she was comfortable before removing his shoes and gently easing himself upon the bed. As soon as he turned to face her, he became aware of the fact that she was already asleep. He lay on his side, watching her chest rise and fall, and placed one hand on her abdomen. This caused Joan to murmur happily, as he moved closer to her, lying his head next to hers on the pillow, where they remained for the rest of the night.

Sherlock and Joan spent most of the next day in the baby's nursery, where they were making some of the final preparations. Sherlock was putting up some more shelves, ensuring that they were secure, whilst Joan was making an inventory of the baby's clothes, blankets, towels and other items. She wanted to be organised, and to ensure that they had absolutely everything they needed before the baby's arrival. As she glanced around the room approvingly, before consulting her list, she felt confident and assured in the fact that they were incredibly well prepared. This caused her to smile slightly, as she walked around the room, running her hands along the new furniture. As she reached the armchairs and table, she stood in front of them, and gazed absent-mindedly out of the window, watching as the gentle autumn breeze shook the leaves from the trees, creating a gentle swooshing sound. She found herself, at that moment, to be almost completely content.

Joan's thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of her phone, which she had placed on the changing table on the other side of the room. She walked over to it instantly and, despite Sherlock's attempts to reach it first to pass it to her, she arrived by the table first, picking up the phone and reading the caller ID. It was Captain Gregson. In that moment, her mind shifted back to the events of the previous evening, and she began to feel her confidence and contentment falter slightly. She looked up to see Sherlock, who was watching her with interest.

"Are you going to answer that, Watson?" he asked, frowning slightly in confusion.

Joan smiled weakly, answering the phone and placing it to her ear, before walking slowly from the nursery and through to the other rooms. She walked through to the kitchen, where she sat at the table, staring out of the window as she spoke.

"Yes, Captain, sorry, I can talk now. What is it?" she asked, nervousness entering her voice.

"Well I've had my people look into the note, Miss Watson, and they've come to the same conclusions you have. The author is most likely female, wrote the note herself, not as part of a group, and has some kinda deep, personal connection to you and Sherlock, but mainly you. The language reveals narcissistic and anti-social tendencies, and demonstrates a 'lack of regard for others, and selfishness to a high degree', according to my linguistics experts. There was no DNA on the envelope or the note, but we were able to pull a partial print from the letter, which we believe the writer may have missed when wiping the note down before sending it. It's being run through the system as we speak." Joan nodded, before verbally confirming to Gregson that she understood what he was saying, and thanked him for getting back to her so quickly.

"What about the phone calls?" She asked, turning from the window to see if Sherlock was nearby. "Do you have any leads on those?"

"That's what I really wanted to talk to you about" Gregson began, and she could hear him shifting slightly in his seat before continuing. "I made a call to the prison where Emily Lake is being detained, and I had her personal file sent to me this morning. She has had no visitors, and has not made or received any telephone calls, not even from her lawyer. Her cell was searched, and no phone was found. Also, my tech guys manages to ascertain the telephone number that called you. Despite being anonymous, it was the same on all occasions, belonging to a recently-purchased disposable cell phone. Unfortunately, that's as far as I got on that front, as the number itself is untraceable." Joan rose her free hand to her forehead and sighed. Although this was a development, it did not help her much. She had less to tell Sherlock than she hoped.

"So it's a dead end? We don't know who made those calls, and there's little we can do to figure it out?" She stated simply, in a low and quiet tone. "So what happens now?"

"Well, I have been thinking over something, Miss Watson, but I'm not sure you'll agree, but hear me out, alright?" Joan looked up with interest, and she nodded, before confirming to Gregson that she would listen.

"Well, the first call you received was made when you were at the precinct, right? Well, I checked it out. You got the call just after Ms Carter left the building. Is it possible that she is the one behind all this?"

Joan was stunned, the thought had never entered her head. Ms Carter was a kind, warm and generous woman, and her nervous disposition made it seem highly unlikely that she would have anything to do with something like this. Joan considered the evidence for a moment, before pursing her lips together and shaking her head, looking towards the ceiling as she spoke.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I don't see how that's possible. Her personality is not consistent with the type of person we are looking for. Besides, she would have no reason to be angry at me, in fact she thanked me for helping to keep her daughter safe."

"But what if that was exactly what you were supposed to think?" Gregson began, pausing for a moment to be quite sure that he had Joan's full attention. "The woman was clearly traumatised by her husband's actions and cruelty, which I assume she was the recipient of during their marriage. She could have some kinda issue, you know, where women whose husbands are cruel often make excused for them, defend them, and blame others? I think she could be lying to you, be creating this whole persona, in order to cover up the fact that she still loves her husband, despite everything he's done. If that's the case, she would hold you responsible for his incarceration, and the breaking up of their family. It would explain the note, Miss Watson. It would explain a lot.

Joan shook her head, her eyes darting around the room. This did not seem realistic to her, it did not seem like a likely option. But after Gregson's explanation, and how plausible it sounded, she found herself questioning her previous beliefs regarding the character of Ms Carter. "I... I don't know, Captain, I don't... I can't see it-"

Before she could continue she heard the familiar footsteps of Sherlock approaching. She looked up just as he entered the kitchen, and he turned towards her curiously.

"Thank you for calling, Captain, yes... yes I will, I will see you tonight". Joan's tone had adopted a much more pleasant and lighter tone, and she hung up quickly before turning her attention back to Sherlock.

"Everything alright, Watson?" he asked.

"Yes" she stated simply, pushing herself from the table. "I was just discussing this evening with Captain Gregson. We should probably go and get ready, we have to leave in an hour."

Joan smiled slightly as she walked past Sherlock and towards the stairs, and he remained standing still in his position for a few minutes. Sherlock was not sure that she had been telling the truth, and that she was fine. If the subject of her conversation with the Captain was in relation to the dinner party they were having that evening, why would she need to leave the room? And why was she trying, so desperately, to hide the concern and uncertainty which she clearly felt, and which her eyes betrayed? Sherlock turned on the spot, and walked slowly towards the stairs, and towards Joan's room. He knew something was wrong, that something was deeply troubling her, and he was determined to help her in any way he could. As he reached her bedroom door, he placed his hand on the handle, before retracting it instantly, and knocking on the door instead. He did not wish to invade her privacy, or make her feel coerced into talking, but he was aware that there was clearly something troubling her, and he hoped that she would be able to talk to him about it. The moment he knocked, he heard her voice from the other side of the door, inviting him inside. He placed his hand upon the door handle, turning it gently, and entered the room.


	21. Chapter 21

Sherlock walked into Joan's room, turning to close the door as he stepped inside, before turning to face her. She was dressed in the same white dress as earlier, and was laying out a beautiful midnight-blue gown on the bed, next to a pair of elegant black heels, which she had matched with a black clutch bag. She was putting some diamond earrings in when he walked in, and she smiled nervously at him before speaking.

"Everything okay, Sherlock? We really need to get a move on, the cab is booked for half seven." She stated simply, smiling slightly as he returned her stare.

"Watson, are you quite alright?" he asked, apparently ignoring her previous statement. He watched her for several moments, as she continued to get ready for the evening whilst avoiding his glance. She removed her hand slowly from her ear and ran her fingers down the dress on the bed, before looking up towards him once more.

"Of course. Is something wrong?" she asked, swallowing hard. She knew she needed to tell him, and she would, but after dinner. She wanted them to have something to enjoy and celebrate, a focus on the future, before revealing the new danger which they both faced. But by the look on Sherlock's face and her certainty that she would no longer be able to hide the issue, she became doubtful that any more delays would be possible.

"Watson, it is quite clear that-" Sherlock was interrupted by the sound of the front door being swung open, and a loud, familiar voice filling the hallway.

"Hello! Sherlock? Joan? Are you guys still here?" It was Miss Hudson. Sherlock turned on the spot, looking towards Joan's closed door, before turning back to face her.

"Yeah, we're up here!" Joan yelled, which was followed by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs and approaching the door. Joan looked apologetically towards Sherlock, before preparing herself to speak. "We will talk after dinner, Sherlock, I promise. Let's just focus on tonight, alright? It's something that we can really celebrate, and we should, and I-"

"Sherlock! Joan!" beamed Miss Hudson as she opened the door, causing Sherlock to take a few cautious steps to the side. Miss Hudson looked beautiful, and was dressed in a regal white and gold gown, with golden shoes and bright red lipstick. "Sorry I'm so early, I thought I would come by a little early and give you your gift before dinner! It's too big to take to the restaurant, so..." she trailed off nervously, before running her fingers through her hair and looking from Sherlock to Joan. "Oh, I... I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, no you're fine" smiled Joan warmly. "Did you say you bought us a gift? That's so kind, thank you, but it really wasn't necessary."

"Of course it was! Besides, it's more for the baby than for you guys" she smiled, walking towards Sherlock and hugging him tightly, before approaching Joan more cautiously. "Wow, you are getting big, aren't you." Joan placed one hand on her stomach and laughed lightly, before turning towards Sherlock.

"Why don't you go and see what Miss Hudson bought the baby, then get dressed, and we can meet downstairs? I just need a few minutes to finish getting ready." Joan stated kindly, her eyes not leaving Sherlock's. He was watching her with curiosity and anticipation, and with a look which revealed his sadness that they were not able to complete their conversation.

"Of course. Thank you, Miss Hudson" he stated, kissing her chastely on the cheek.

"Not a problem, Sherlock, not a problem. It's downstairs, I left it in the hallway." Miss Hudson nodded towards Joan, before beaming up at Sherlock, linking their arms and leading him from the room. Sherlock cast a look back at Joan, who nodded to him reassuringly, assuring him that they would continue their conversation later that evening. He gave her a weak smile, before facing forwards and following the excitable Miss Hudson into the foyer, where she introduced him to the gift.

Joan walked towards the door, watching Sherlock and Miss Hudson as they slowly descended the stairs, and leaned into the door frame. She heard Miss Hudon's animated voice, and parts of Sherlock's grateful responses, and smiled to herself. She appeared quite serene in the doorway, the evening light shining through the window and highlighting her figure, as she stared with wide eyes towards the staircase. She knew that she would have to discuss the letter and the phone calls with Sherlock that evening, and was well aware of how difficult it would be for them both; not just because of the threat, but also because of the significant delay in her confiding in him about the threats. But before that was going to happen, and cast a shadow over their current happiness and contentment, Joan was determined to make this evening wonderful. She wanted him to realise just how much they were supported, and cared about, and trusted. She wanted him to feel some of the happiness and support which he thoroughly deserved. After the dinner, they would return to the brownstone, and she would tell him the truth. All of it. She sighed at this realisation, closing her eyes for a moment, before creeping back into her room, closing the door, and continuing to get dressed.

In the next fifteen minutes, Joan fixed her hair into elegant waves, applied some make-up, and wrapped herself in the soft material of her dark blue dress, which hugged her developing figure perfectly. She looked happy, glowing, and completely content. Her eyes were bright and fanciful, and the black and silver accessories which she chose to accompany the dress completed the look to perfection. She looked at herself in her long mirror for a moment, nodding approvingly, before reaching towards her dressing table and picking up an antique silver dragon hair-slide, which her mother had given her at her graduation, before gently pulling back a small section of her hair and clipping it with the grip. It finished off the look completely, much to Joan's satisfaction. She picked up her clutch from the bed and slowly made her way down the stairs, where she found Sherlock and Miss Hudson, ready and waiting.

Miss Hudson had clearly been a wonderful influence upon Sherlock, who was now dressed in a fine an expensive, bespoke black suit, with a crisp white shirt and fitted waistcoat. She also noticed that he was wearing a deep blue tie, which was almost the exact same shade as her own dress. She smiled at this as she neared the bottom of the stairs, just as Miss Hudson and Sherlock turned from their positions to face her. Miss Hudson smiled and clasped her hands together, complementing Joan on her "beautiful and adorable" dress. Sherlock, on the other hand, was speechless. He simply stared at the breathtakingly beautiful woman in front of him, inhaled quickly, and felt his heart beat ever so slightly faster. She looked wonderful, completely wonderful. He had never seen a woman look so elegant, poised and confident. She was magnificent.

"Watson, you... you look incredible." He stated, offering her his hand as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She accepted it willingly, and allowed him to lead her slowly towards him, where he looked her over very quickly, his keen and alert eyes darting across her body. Joan watched as his pupils dilated and his breathing increased, and she smiled flirtatiously at the effect which she was having upon him. They all stood, in complete silence, for just under a minute, before Sherlock spoke.

"We... We have ten minutes until the taxi arrives, Watson. Would you like to see the charming gift Miss Watson bought our baby? I have placed it in the nursery, so it is quite safe." Sherlock sounded happy, borderline enthusiastic, Joan mused. She nodded, smiling warmly at him, before allowing herself to be led towards the bottom floor. Miss Hudson followed them, staring at their entwined hands as she walked. She had a very good feeling about this.

Sherlock slowly led Joan down the stairs and towards the nursery, before letting go of her hand and stepping in front of her, and opening the door to the nursery in an exaggerated manner. Sherlock stepped aside to allow Joan to enter the room, and she passed him by silently, her dress sweeping gently upon the ground. As she entered the room, she was overcome by the beautiful object which was proudly displayed in the middle-back of the room.

It was a wooden rocking horse, hand-carved, made from a dark wood which matched the rest of the décor. Joan smiled, walking quickly towards it, before resting a hand upon its head and running her fingers slowly across its body. The horse was smooth and shiny, made from flawless material, without a scratch or stain. There was even a saddle in the centre, as well as reins, and the horse had a mane carved into the wood around its neck. It's tail was similarly crafted, and it was completely beautiful, standing majestically towards the back of the nursery. The aspect of the design which attracted Joan instantly was the detail on its face. The eyes and nose were carved wonderfully, by a skilled hand who she pondered would challenge Da Vinci. She ran her fingers along its nose and lips, before allowing her hand to fall from its face, and she turned to face Miss Hudson and Sherlock, who had been observing her with the utmost interest and appreciation.

"Miss Hudson, this is wonderful, thank you. Wherever did you buy it?" Joan asked, beaming.

"Oh I didn't buy it. I had it made for me by an Italian sculptor friend of mine. I was his... we, had a rather interesting relationship in the late-nineties, and we meet up once every couple of years. When I saw him a few months ago, he was making something similar to this for a prominent family in Florence. I mentioned that I had two friends who were having a baby, and he made one for you, too." She smiled at Joan, as her eyes swam with the memories of her recent Italian escapades. "Yes, he truly is a wonderful man. Incredible artist, too. Very talented."

"Yes, yes he is." Agreed Sherlock, clasping his hands together and resting them in front of him. "Well ladies, we should probably go upstairs and wait for the taxi. After you, Miss Hudson" he stated politely, moving aside to allow her to pass first. She thanked him, before walking from the room and strutting confidently up the stairs, her curled hair bouncing upon her shoulders. Sherlock immediately turned to Joan, whose attention was fixed on the rocking horse. She pushed its back gently, watching as it gently rocked. It truly was a wonderful gift.

"Exquisite, is it not?" Sherlock asked, his eyes not leaving Joan. She turned instantly and smiled at him, removing her hand from the object.

"Yes, it's beautiful. Miss Hudson knows some remarkable people." She replied.

"I believe that's an understatement" Sherlock stated in a low yet satirical tone, before reaching out his hand towards Joan. She smiled coyly, before walking over to him and accepting it, holding it tightly.

"It's going to be alright, you know" she stated kindly. "Really. I promise you."

"Yes. Yes, I know." He stated after a few moments, before bending slightly and kissing her gently on the cheek. She smiled, and he led her slowly from the room, up the stairs and towards the front door, which was now open. Miss Hudson was standing in front of it, beckoning her companions to come closer.

"I guess it arrived earlier than you thought" she smiled, plucking her coat from the stand near the door. "Are you both ready?" Sherlock and Joan nodded in assent, and followed Miss Hudson from the brownstone and into the taxi, where they travelled speedily towards the restaurant.

Sherlock, Joan and Miss Hudson were the last of the guests to arrive, and were immediately shown to their table by an overly-enthusiastic hostess with dark hair and a perplexed expression, who instantly reminded Sherlock and Joan of Miss Hudson. They arrived at their large table, which was situated in a private room at the back of the restaurant, which was complete with a large fish tank which had been built into the back wall, and ornate golden décor. The scene was incredibly regal and grandiose, and suited Sherlock wonderfully. Joan knew this, which, combined with the high-standard of the food, had been one of the main reasons why she suggested this restaurant, which she claimed was a personal favourite of hers. As they approached the table, the smiling and merry faces of Bell and Alfredo wandered up to the guests, and they rose as Joan entered the room, each complementing her on her dress. Sherlock nodded politely as he was greeted by Bell and Alfredo, before allowing his glance to shift towards Gregson, who was watching Joan with a mixture of admiration and agitation. As he turned his head to meet Sherlock's gaze, the latter realised that Gregson knew something of what was troubling Joan, and it was clearly something which made him feel nervous and uncomfortable. Before he had a change to analyse the Captain's demeanour further, Gregson rose from the table and walked briskly over to the new arrivals, kissing Joan on the cheek before reaching out and shaking Sherlock's hand, placing his hand on his back, and leading him to the seat next to his own. Joan observed this with caution and interest, and sat herself in the seat next to Sherlock, with Miss Hudson following suit, placing herself between Joan and Alfredo.

"Well, let me be the first to say how honoured I am to have been invited here tonight" stated Gregson, placing one hand on his chest. "I mean, this certainly isn't something that I ever imagined doing with you guys, under these particular circumstances. But I think it's great. You guys are gonna be incredible parents, and this kid is lucky to have such intelligent, dedicated and wonderful people in its life. I just hope you guys realise that. I also want you to know that everyone at this table, and many others who are not here tonight, support you both fully and completely. And no matter what comes up, what obstacles arise, we are here. And we will do everything in our power to make sure you guys and your baby are safe, happy, and aware of just how great you are." Gregson paused for a moment, fixing his gaze upon Joan during the last part of his speech, before picking up his glass and raising it. "To Sherlock, Joan, and their baby" he declared, as the other members of the table also raised their glasses, repeated the toast, and drank. Sherlock and Joan thanked Captain Gregson, before hearing similar sentiments repeated by other members of the table.

"Y'know, I never imagined this could happen" began Bell, placing his glass on the table and leaning back in his seat. "I always knew you guys had something... special, something different. But this is not what I thought at all. But the Captain's right, y'know? You're both incredibly, and your kid is lucky to have you both, as partners or as independent individuals, whatever. You'll make it work, I know it. And this kid is gonna be... outstanding." Bell nodded, smiling towards Joan as he spoke. Sherlock thanked him warmly, as did Joan, before Alfredo began to speak.

"Same, guys. I mean, after everything you've been through over the past couple years, after all the things you have faced and defeated... you're gonna be fine with this. If you can handle the kinda things you do on a daily basis, then caring for a child is gonna be something you'll do too. And well, I bet. There ain't a kid alive who wouldn't be blessed to have Miss Watson as a mother. And you, Sherlock, will be an incredible father. Look how far you have come, what you have achieved. Your kid is gonna be the representation of that, the embodiment of your achievements. And he's gonna love you, man. And admire you. Both of you." Alfredo finished his statement with a nod, before clasping his hands and placing them on the table, staring at his ring as embarrassment began to wash over him from his impromptu and unplanned speech. Joan instantly sensed his discomfort.

"Thank you, Alfredo. You've helped us more than you realise. Especially Sherlock" she stated, turning towards him. "The support you have given him has been invaluable, and it has given us both incredible strength." Sherlock nodded in assent.

"The support you gave to him, and he gives to you, is also part of this, Miss Watson. You gotta believe that. Because the relationship you have, whatever it may be, works. And it will work for this kid too. Because you are both so wonderful at what you do, and being who you are." Alfredo stated, looking up from the table. Joan smiled warmly at him, and thanked him, before turning her attention to a voice coming from her right.

"Wow, you know, I..." began Miss Hudson, smiling nervously and shaking her head so her hair rested behind her shoulders. "I didn't prepare a speech, sorry. They definitely aren't my strong point. But I wanna say that... that you are both so incredibly, and so inspirational, that neither of you need to worry about a thing. You will be outstanding parents, and this child is incredibly blessed. And we will totally help you with anything we can. I'm always available for cleaning and babysitting!" She smiled, recovering some of her confidence. The members of the dinner party smiled and laughed appreciatively, before Joan and Sherlock thanked Miss Hudson, and the others, for their kind words.

"Thank you, thank you all so much" Joan smiled, clasping her hands together and placing them in her lap. "You know, I... I was so terrified when I realised that... when I found out that I was going to have a baby. But your support and your kindness has played such a great role in alleviated my fears and my doubts. Not all of them, of course, but a substantial amount. I can't even tell you all how grateful I am for your help, support, and trust." She paused for a moment, looking at each person in turn, before focusing her attention of Captain Gregson. "Your kind words to me, and to Sherlock, and our child, have touched us both. And I want to thank you for that. I also want you to know that we, too, are here for all of you. And the support you have given us here, today, and always, will never be forgotten. Not by us, and not by our baby. Although our child will be born into a frightening world, and one which is fraught with fear and anger and hatred, it is incredibly comforting to know that amidst all of that, are people like you. So, thank you. Thank you so much."

All of the people at the table were staring appreciatively at Joan, admiring her strength and her conviction. She was clearly being sincere, and it was not often that she expressed such sentiments as those she had just stated. Before anyone could respond verbally to her kind and wise words, Sherlock began to speak.

"As Watson has said, we are both extremely grateful to you all. I understand how unexpected this is for you all, it took us by surprise too" he began, turning slowly towards Joan, who smiled modestly. "But I want you all to know, and especially you, Watson, that this is one of the most incredible moments of my life. It is a great time, I think, to appreciate the moment. The people around us, the home we have created, and the evolution and development of our partnership. But more than anything, it is a time to celebrate the culmination of those things. Our baby is that representation. This child will be a rose amongst the thorns of our existence, and will blossom and bloom under the radiance and warmth of its mother. I only hope that I am also able to be as stable and as... useful and influence as the wonderful Miss Watson, who will succeed completely at this, our latest challenge. I... I just want you to know, Watson, everyone, in fact, that this truly is wonderful. It is terrifying, it is unpredictable, but it is beautiful, incredible and ours. And I am so, so grateful that I am able to be part of this." His eyes were wide and glistening, and Joan found herself transfixed upon him, completely engaged in his stare. They looked at each other with an intensity which rivalled every feeling and emotion they had ever expressed towards each other, and the people at the table watched this with interest and awe. Sherlock turned slowly from her face, looked down at his glass of sparkling water, and picked it up carefully, raising it into the air.

"I propose a new toast, everyone" he began, looking at the faces of each member of the table in turn. "To everyone in this room, and to everyone embarking on this journey with us" he turned to face Joan, catching her glance, and holding her stare. "And especially to Joan Watson, the incredible woman who has given me the greatest gift and the most wonderful opportunity that I have ever been honoured and privileged enough to receive. To you, Joan Watson" he stated, raising his glass slowly towards the air.

Joan watched him for a moment, and felt her heart beating faster as he watched her with the same intensity from just a few moments ago. She looked towards her glass, picked it up carefully, and lifted it towards Sherlock's own, holding it just inches from him. "And to you, Sherlock, who has made this journey possible. For both of us." They stared at each other for a few more moments, before slowly moving their glasses towards each other, causing a small clinking sound to break the silence.

"To Sherlock and Joan!" beamed Gregson, raising his glass, which was followed by a chorus of the same statement. Sherlock and Joan gazed appreciatively around the table, smiling at each person in turn, before placing their glasses back on the table. The dinner party members spent the next three hours talking and laughing, reminiscing about the past, and contemplating the future. At eleven o'clock, when they had paid the bill and were finally ready to depart, Joan had almost forgotten about the task which she faced when she and Sherlock arrived home. Almost.

"Goodnight, Miss Watson" stated Gregson, slightly tipsy from the alcohol he had consumed. "You'll be fine, okay? I know it. And we will fix this for you, I promise. Alright?"

"Yes, Captain, thank you. I hope Detective Bell is driving." She replied sweetly.

"Oh you know it, Miss Watson. That's why I only got a single glass of that fine champagne. C'mon, Captain, you're on duty in nine hours." Bell placed an arm on the Captain's back and slowly led him away from the table, before turning and thanking Joan and Sherlock for a wonderful evening, and wishing them the best. The hosts repeated these sentiments, and wished him a pleasant evening. Alfredo was the next to leave, pulling on his black dinner jacket and walking slowly towards Joan, thanking her kindly for the invitation.

"Not at all, Alfredo" she smiled. "It wouldn't have been the same without you. And I meant everything I said. We both did."

"I know, Miss Watson" he replied, half-smiling. "I still wanna thank you, though, for the opportunity. And not just the one you've given me tonight." Joan smiled warmly, nodding in understanding, as she leaned up and kissed his cheek, wishing him well.

Soon after Alfredo's departure, a tearful Miss Hudson rose from her seat, making her way over to Sherlock and Joan. Miss Hudson was clearly slightly beyond tipsy, which had the interesting effect of making her appear more serious and confident than usual. She walked quickly over to Sherlock's side, leaning into him and embracing him warmly. "Thanks Sherlock, you're so... so lucky, I... I'm so happy for you" she mumbled into his shoulder, as he looked over towards Joan, who was smiling at the scene. Sherlock cautiously placed his hand on the back of Miss Hudson's head, murmuring some kind words in return, causing her to disentangle herself from his person.

"And you, Joan" she stated, wandering over to Joan and embracing her too. "Thank you for being so... you". Joan laughed softly, returning Miss Hudson's hug, and offering to share a taxi with her.

"You only live a few blocks away, after all. And I want to make sure you get home okay." Miss Hudson smiled at this statement, nodding appreciatively before leading Joan through the restaurant by the hand. Sherlock adjusted his tie, placed his hands in his pockets, and followed the two women through the restaurant and onto the street.

The night air was cool and comforting upon Joan's face, and she found that it soothed her warm skin. In the last few minutes, since the guests had began to leave and she herself had departed, she became aware of just how real her current situation was. The evening had been wonderful, and she was glad that she had forbade herself from thinking about the letter and the phone calls in order to devote an entire evening to their baby. But as she stepped onto the pavement, and Sherlock moved forward to hail a taxi, the realisation of the conversation she was about to have with him hit her with an almost physical force. She felt herself become weaker, her limbs grew heavier, and she visibly paled. Her current condition was enough to cause the merry Miss Hudson to turn to face her, sobering up instantly, and place a comforting arm across her shoulders.

"Hey, hey Joan, hey. What is it? What's wrong?" She asked comfortingly, in a tone which made Joan want to weep.

"Nothing, I just... you know, hormones, exhaustion, I... I'm fine, really. Please don't worry." She offered Miss Hudson a small reassuring smile, which the taller woman seemed to accept, as she drew Joan closer to her.

"It's okay, I understand. Don't worry." Joan breathed in deeply and stared towards the sky, calming herself as she stared at the beautiful Manhattan skyline. It was beautiful, and she found herself instantly calmed by it. Her repose was broken a few seconds later by Miss Hudson, who called across the street to Sherlock, who was talking to a cab driver. "Sherlock!" she called, drawing his attention instantly towards her. Joan was brought from her thoughts, and stared curiously from Miss Hudson to Sherlock, who was approaching them. "Sherlock, Joan's really tired... she needs rest... c'mon, let's get her home, okay?" Joan froze, blinking in frustration as she forced herself to meet Sherlock's eyes, and she shook her head briefly, assuring him that she was fine. He surveyed her for a moment, noting her clear unease, and correctly deducing the reason for it. He nodded briefly, before turning to Miss Hudson.

"The cab is waiting, Miss Hudson. Please, after you."

Miss Hudson took the cue, and removed her arm from Joan's back, before walking clumsily over towards the taxi and sitting in the front seat, talking loudly to the driver. Sherlock looked towards Joan, who crossed her arms and held them to her, suddenly aware of how cold it was. Before she could speak, Sherlock had removed his jacket and wrapped it across her shoulders, before stepping to her side and resting his right hand on her lower back, and leading her towards the car. "It's alright, Joan, I assure you. After tonight, especially, I hope you realise how supported you are, and how much we are all willing to help you, both of you." He stated kindly, in a voice which made her heart beat faster. "I also hope that you are aware of how willing I am to assist you in anything you are concerned about, or anything you could need, Watson." He stated kindly, as they reached the door of the taxi. She nodded in response, as Sherlock slowly opened the door and held her hand as she eased herself into the seat, before he moved around the back of the taxi and let himself into the back seat via the other door. Sherlock and Joan sat in silence, the only sounds within the taxi coming from the loud and laughing Miss Hudson and the slightly bemused cab driver. After a few minutes, the cab pulled up outside Miss Hudson's apartment building, and Sherlock stepped out of the cab to escort her to the door. Joan watched them through the window, admiring his chivalry. She watched as Miss Hudson once more spoke enthusiastically to him, before draping her arms across his shoulders, disentangling herself slowly, and walking into her building. Sherlock watched after her for a few moments and, once he was certain she had made it safely into the lift, turned quickly on his heel and walked back towards the taxi, rejoining Joan in the back seat.

As soon as he sat next to her, Joan shifted slightly in her seat and turned to face him. He turned too, and they found themselves facing each other at the exact same time, their eyes glowing in the darkness. "Sherlock, I... I really want to talk to you about something, when we get back. Do you have some time?" She asked cautiously, her eyes not leaving his. Despite the relative darkness, as the cab slowly moved forwards Joan could feel Sherlock's hand reach towards her, and clasp her folded hands. She looked down towards the touch, before gazing up at his face at the sound of his voice.

"Of course, Watson. Of course. As long as you are ready." He replied kindly, in a low and gentle tone.

Joan smiled in the darkness, looking from him to her lap, and back to him. "I am. I have to be." Sherlock looked at her with interest for a moment, before the taxi pulled up outside the brownstone and the driver announced that they had reached their destination. Sherlock smiled kindly at Joan, before pulling out some cash and paying the driver, and exiting the taxi. By the time he had closed the door and walked to the other side, Joan had already opened her own door and emerged from the back seat, and stood to greet him. She smiled at the slightly put-out expression on his face, and held his jacket closer to her as she walked up the stairs and towards their home, a mixture of fear and anticipation rising inside her with each step.

As soon as she unlocked the door and entered the building, she was instantly compelled to remove Sherlock's jacket, as the warmth from the inside was completely different to the coldness of the outside. She felt strangely comforted by this heat, and reassured by the warm and comfortable feeling which seemed to surround her the moment she entered the property. This was a place where she felt safe, and happy, and protected. She almost felt as though the building itself was giving her the strength she needed for the conversation, and she pondered this as she hung up Sherlock's jacket and moved slowly towards the living area. She placed her clutch on the table near the door, before sitting in her favourite seat on the red couch, and attempting to remove her diamond earrings, which suddenly felt heavy in her ears. As she successfully removed one burden, she looked up to find Sherlock standing near his armchair, lowering himself slowly in it, as she prepared to relieve herself of another.

"Whenever you are ready, Watson" he began in a calm and sincere tone, crossing his legs as she clasped his hands together and placed them on his lap, "I am ready to listen."

Joan sighed deeply, staring at the fireplace, at Angus, and then at the ceiling. She exhaled slowly, before turning her head towards Sherlock and beginning to recount the incident. She did not allow her eyes to leave his face as she told him everything. She began by explaining the letter that she had received, its contents, the threat, and the reasons behind her concealing it from him. His eyes darkened as she told him how she had believed the threat, and did not tell him of the letter because of her fear for his life and for their child's. She then explained her own investigation into the area, and disclosed what she had uncovered. He listened with interest, nodding at intervals, before shifting in his seat slightly as she mentioned the phone call she received a few weeks after the letter. She then reinforced her reasons for not telling him of the letter and the call, claiming that it was due to her concerns for the safety of him and their child, as well as her belief that the news would unsettle him, and cause his current happiness and well-being to be compromised.

"I know it was a mistake, and I know that I should have told you sooner" she began, clasping her hands tightly together in her lap, as she watched his impassive face. "But I really felt that what I was doing was... was right, was appropriate. I thought I could handle it, and figure it out without compromising you or putting our baby at risk. But I was wrong. So I... I told Gregson yesterday, and he helped to uncover some more information, create a new theory. He believes that Ms Carter could be behind all of this, but I'm not convinced. It doesn't seem a plausible explanation, but..." she paused, noticing how he shifted slightly in his seat for the first time since she had began to speak. "I only told Gregson before you because I needed an outside opinion before discussing it with you. And for the record, he was shocked that I had waited so long to tell anyone, and was astounded that I hadn't even confided in you. Her urged me to do so, and I assured him that I would, tonight. I just... I wanted us to enjoy the evening, to celebrate the baby and the future, without the uncertainty of the present hanging over us. But I'm sorry, Sherlock. I know hat I made a mistake, and as a result, I have compromised more than just your safety. I've compromised your trust." Joan breathed in slowly, removing her gaze from his and staring at the fireplace for a few moments, as she calmed herself. She could not bare to be facing away from him, not to see his reaction, and so she turned to face him. When she did, she was surprised to see that he was no longer in his armchair, but by her side.

She glanced at him with caution, and was instantly struck by the darkness in his eyes. It was not anger or hatred that swam in his eyes, but disappointment, loss, and sadness. And she held herself completely responsible for that.

"Watson, I..." he began, before looking to the ground and sighing. "You should have told me, Watson, you should have... I could have helped you. This was not something you should have gone through alone, certainly not for two months." He sounded upset and disappointed, but not angry. Joan was not sure how to feel about this, and began to wonder whether she would actually prefer his anger.

"You're right. I know that now, I... I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am. I never intended for it to get this far, I just... I panicked." She stated simply, breathing in deeply in an attempt to calm herself. She wanted to remain strong, she had to. She knew that he would comfort her if she appeared distressed, but she did not wish him to. She wanted all of his efforts and his attention to be solely on himself, on his own feelings, and on his pain. She would not allow hers to enter the equation.

"I know. I do, I... I understand, Watson" he stated in exasperation, removing his clasped hands from his lap and standing before her, pacing the floor before looking back at her. "I know you were trying to protect me, to protect the child. But this was not something that you should have undertaken alone, and certainly not for such a long period of time. The threat, if it is true, may be even more real now that the writer has gone so long without being uncovered."

"You're right" she sighed, looking down at her hands before facing him. "You're right. And I know that nothing I can say or do will change what I have done. Or haven't done, really." she stated simply, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she prepared herself for his reaction. "I really thought I could handle it. I thought I could work quickly and solve it without anyone else, so that you would be safe and the baby would be okay, and your happiness and stability would be ensured. But instead, I compromised all of that. And I am sorry, Sherlock. I never meant for this to happen." She looked down at her hands for a moment, staring at her silver bracelets, determined not to allow herself to cry. She could hear him shifting on his feet just in front of her, and felt his presence near her. She looked up, and saw that he was moving towards her, and was kneeling in front of her. He placed one hand on her hands and the other on the sofa to balance himself, before beginning to speak.

"I'm not angry, Watson. I understand why you did it, and I understand how much pain this has caused you. I know that this was not because you did not trust me or believe me, rather, it was a misguided attempt to protect me and the baby. But you must realise that you cannot take on things like this alone." He paused for a moment, looking up at her as she nodded in assent. "Do you remember when you told me how important it is that I open up to you? That I tell you of my fears and concerns, so we can deal with them together?" Joan nodded again, but did not say a word, and waited patiently for him to continue. "That must apply to you too, otherwise we will find ourselves in situations which we do not understand, are not prepared for, and cannot control." Joan sighed, looked up at him and nodded once more, before verbally agreeing with him. His eyes were no longer dark and frantic, but had softened slightly. But they were not soft enough to conceal the pain and anguish behind his eyes. "Now, as no other threats have been made since the call, and there have been no direct or indirect attempts on either one of us, I think we have been fortunate. It does not appear as though we have been immediately compromised by your concealment. However, it is imperative that we act immediately. As the Captain is indisposed, and due to your clear exhaustion, I propose that we rest for tonight, and travel to the precinct first thing in the morning. I will examine the letter, discuss Captain Gregson's findings, and then we will discuss the case with a small team of trusted officers, as well as Alfredo." He was speaking gently and kindly, and Joan was relieved. Although the guilt she was feeling was almost unbearable.

Sherlock clearly sensed this tension, and squeezed her hand reassuringly, before continuing to speak in the same compassionate tone. "We will solve this, Watson. It may just be a hoax, or a scare tactic. But then again, the threat may be quite real. But you are sufficiently protected, which has been demonstrated on this very night." Joan nodded confidently, inhaling deeply as she turned her own hands from under his, and laced their fingers together, before looking back up at him.

"I promise I will do everything I can to make this up to you, Sherlock. Although I am aware of just how difficult a task that will be."

"My dear Watson" he began, moving back on his heels and raising their entwined hands, leading her slowly from the sofa. "You have already done so, by telling me, and allowing me to help you." Joan appeared to be visibly uncomfortable, her distress was clear, as was the reason behind it. "We will talk about this more in the morning, alright? But first, it is essential that you rest." Sherlock watched her for a moment, and tried to think of a way to reassure her, to make her realise that everything was going to be alright. "Watson, I wonder, would you spend the night with me in my room?" She looked up at him, her eyes widening at the offer. She had seldom been in his room, and was aware of how an invitation into the place was incredibly rare and a sign of good faith and trust which, at the moment, she did not believe that she deserved. But the solemn, compassionate and kind look in his eyes reassured her that he was not angry with her, and she understood in that moment the need for her to fix the damage she had caused. His offer was an olive branch, and one which she was grateful to receive.

"Are you sure, Sherlock?" she asked quietly, watching him intently. He offered her a small smile, and nodded bashfully, before returning his gaze to her own, and drawing her closer to him, until they could each feel the beat of the other's heart by their chest. "Yes. I would love to, Sherlock. Thank you" she stated, as he pulled her gently into his embrace. "Thank you."


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Hey everyone, I'm so sorry for taking so long to update since the last time. I've recently started a new job, so have been focusing on everything that goes with that, but here is the new chapter, and I will write another tonight, which will be uploaded before 12am GMT. Sorry again, and thank you for your continued support :) Again, please let me know if there are any issues/problems :) HQ21

Sherlock and Joan spent the next couple of weeks reviewing the existing evidence, analysing it further, and creating a list of potential suspects based on their most recent case history. As far as the note was concerned, Sherlock agreed with Joan and Gregson's analyses: that it was most likely written by a woman with some personal connection to the pair, particularly Joan. Her use of language and the subjects which she discussed implied that she was aware of some of the intimate details of their life, and that she was most likely a person affected by the loss of a loved one at the hands of another, and that Sherlock and Joan had somehow reminded her of this. The phone call could not be traced, and little more was established about it, other than the fact that it was made from a disposable cell phone. Sherlock even tried to call it a couple of times, but it went straight to an automated voice-mail. Joan did not receive any threatening or dubious phone calls, letters or emails, and nor did Sherlock. In the two weeks proceeding Joan's revelation, relatively little had been established about the identity or intention of the writer. During this time, Joan had almost reassured herself that, whatever the motivation behind the letter and call, the threat may have been abated. Although she was unsettled, she no longer experienced the same fear and dread which had been haunting her for the last two and a half months. She felt calmer, though wary, and was trying to focus all of her attention on the fact that her baby would be arriving in just six weeks time. Sherlock, on the other hand, continued to stress the significance of the note, arguing that it was not something that should be overlooked or underestimated. In a meeting with Captain Gregson and Detective Bell, Sherlock's frustration in relation to this area began to surface.

"Sherlock, look" stated Gregson calmly, trying to placate the pacing consulting detective, who was walking past the seated Joan and glaring from Gregson to Bell. "I'm not saying we should ignore this, it is not gonna be swept under the carpet. All I'm saying is, you guys appear to be safe. No more threats have been made, you haven't encountered any suspicious people or circumstances. And you, of all people, would notice if you had." Gregson paused for a moment, raising his hand towards Sherlock, who turned to face him with blazing eyes. "We will continue to look into this, Sherlock, alright? We will find out who sent the note and made the call, and we will figure out why. But in the meantime, you guys have more pressing and more immediate things to be concerned about." After finishing his sentence, Gregson glanced towards Joan, who was seated opposite him, with her hands clasped in her lap.

Sherlock also turned to face Joan, his blazing eyes calming, as he gazed at her warmly, her placid yet slightly unsettled expression soothing him instantly. He turned back towards Gregson and nodded, before walking slowly towards Joan. Before he could reach her, he turned to face Gregson once more, before speaking. "I understand, Captain" he began in a civil yet solemn tone. "But would you please assure me that you and your team will do everything you can to protect Miss Watson?"

Gregson nodded slowly, glancing from Sherlock to a slightly confused looking Joan. "Protect me? How? What are you talking about?" She asked, glancing at both men in turn.

"Miss Watson, we're going to assign two officers to you until this issue is resolved. They will be discreet, low-key, but they will be near you, especially when you're alone." Gregson replied in a low tone. Joan's eyes widened, and she suddenly felt her previous fears return, with the realisation that she was not as safe as she had believed herself to be, which meant that her baby wasn't either.

Joan nodded slowly, thanking the Captain in a voice which feigned confidence and self-assurance, which Sherlock knew was a construct. She was frightened, and he knew it. And he would help her to alleviate those fears.

"Captain, I'd like to take Miss Watson home now, if that's alright." Sherlock stated, placing his hands in his pockets and leaning back slowly on his heels. The Captain nodded in assent, before pushing himself away from his desk, turning around, and picking something up. Gregson then turned back to face Sherlock and Joan, who had now risen from her seat.

"Sure, of course" he began, holding a case file in front of him, which instantly gained the attention of Sherlock and Joan. "Before you go, though, I got a case this morning, and would appreciate a consult." Gregson took a few steps forwards and passed the file to Sherlock, who opened it with interest. He sensed Joan walking up from behind him, and could feel her breathing gently against his arm. As he registered this, Sherlock closed his eyes for just a moment, and felt his heart race. By the time he had reopened his eyes, Joan was talking to Gregson.

"A spate of robberies on the upper-east side, all occurring in homes containing a recently divorced parent with children?" She asked. "Interesting. We'll look into it for you from the brownstone and call you this evening." Joan stated kindly, before Sherlock even had a chance to close the file. Gregson nodded gratefully, which Sherlock returned, before following Joan from the room and out of the precinct. Sherlock followed Joan closely, and was watching her with interest as they made their way towards her car. As she reached the driver's seat, he finally spoke.

"Everything alright, Watson? You seemed a tad eager to leave the precinct. Not that I blame you, of course." He began, sarcasm entering his tone.

Joan turned to face him immediately, removing her hand from the car door as she did so, and leaning against it. "Captain Gregson needs help on the case, and the sooner we get to work on it, the sooner we can divert our attention to other things." She replied simply.

"Other things" Sherlock repeated, watching her closely. "Like what, Watson?"

Joan maintained his gaze confidently, and crossed her arms across her chest as she drew her jacket closer to her, feeling the clingy material across her abdomen. "I was hoping we could review the case, inform Captain Gregson of our preliminary findings, and then just... spend some time together." She stated, observing his reaction. Sherlock seemed slightly confused, and his eyes narrowed as he tilted his head slightly to one side, before pursing his lips.

"We've been spending the last few weeks constantly in each other's company. I would have thought you would be glad of a break from me, really." He stated, his eyes sparkling. Joan did not rise to the bait, and was not about to shower him with compliments. Not many, anyway.

"That's not what I meant" she began solemnly, her eyes never leaving his. "Over the past couple of weeks we have been immersed in – obsessing in – the letter and the call. I just... I want us to spend some time together, just us, before the baby arrives." She paused, watching his expression with interest. "I know you want to remain completely devoted to the case, and that is understandable, but it is being looked into, and we are protected. Spending one night forgetting all of this, just for a few hours, will do us both more good than dedicating another sleepless night to it. Don't you think?"

Sherlock allowed himself a reasonable amount of time to absorb her words. Her desire to spend time with him was incredibly flattering, and he was grateful for the gesture. He enjoyed the time they spent together immensely, and had missed it in recent weeks. He knew that the letter and phone call were playing on her mind, as well as his, and that she was hiding how frightened she was. He decided that the best way to help her, to help them both, was to agree to her request. Which he did, gladly.

"I should love to, Watson." He stated kindly, in a low and quiet tone. The tone he used was the type which made her heart beat faster, and her breath catch in her throat. So instead of verbally responding, she simply nodded and smiled, before getting into her car. Sherlock sat in the passenger seat, and waited patiently for Joan to wrap the seatbelt across herself. "I should imagine that this will be one of the last times we do spend time together, just the two of us, Watson" he stated quietly, but with an air of excitement. "Soon it will be three." He turned slightly to face her, and she looked up to meet his stare as she clicked her belt into place.

"Yes, it will. But we will still be able to spend time together, talk, discuss things, and listen. Our baby won't change that, Sherlock" she reassured him, speaking kindly. "He or she will simply give us another reason to spend time together, and something more wonderful to talk about." Sherlock nodded quickly, before turning to admire the view in front of him. Joan placed her key in the ignition, watching him as she turned it. She could see his curious eyes staring into the distance, clearly considering her words. She nodded slightly, before turning to face forwards, and driving them back to the brownstone.

Sherlock and Joan entered the brownstone a few minutes later, with the latter walking slowly towards the living area, removing her coat and laying it on the sofa. She then walked slowly towards the kitchen, pouring water into the kettle and placing it on the stove, and turning around just as Sherlock entered the room. She smiled tiredly at him, leaning back against the work surface a she did so. Sherlock admired her for a moment, not just her strength and her character, but her new figure. Since Joan's pregnancy had been visibly apparent, he found himself moving from curiosity to deep interest, and found himself watching her as she performed daily tasks, from walking around a room to the laundry. He found her current condition completely fascinating, and she knew it. Sometimes, when they spent the nights lying together side by side, she would wake in the night to find him being completely awake himself, his gaze fixed on her stomach with an expression of wonder. Often, she would be able to watch him for several minutes before he noticed that she was awake. Sometimes she did not even open her eyes, but could feel the intensity of his stare upon her. Instead of being unnerving or odd, she found this reassuring and comforting. There was something in his gaze which placated her, but which she could not identify or adequately describe. The closest she was able to come to adequately describing it would be a look depicting a combination of protectiveness and concern, which she understood completely. She smiled at him reassuringly, adjusting her position slightly, until they simply watched each other from opposite ends of the kitchen. They remained standing and watching in perfect silence for several moments, until the hissing of the kettle drew each of them from their thoughts.

Joan turned on the spot immediately, removing the kettle from the stove. Before she could turn to the left to remove some mugs from the cupboard, she felt Sherlock walking up behind her. She did not turn around, but felt his arm brush lightly against hers, as he stood to her left and opened the cupboard himself, removing two mugs and placing them by her side. Before she even had a chance to thank him, he had opened the door to another cupboard and passed her the tea which they both enjoyed. She sighed lightly, smiling slightly as she did so, and placed the tea bags in the mugs, before filling them both up with the boiling hot water. She picked up Sherlock's and passed it to him, before drawing her own to her face, and blowing the steam lightly from the top. She then led Sherlock over to the kitchen table, where they both sat down and held the hot cups in their hands. Sherlock had been oddly quiet in the car journey, and equally quiet since entering the brownstone. Joan was not sure whether this was due to his anxiousness about the imminent arrival of their baby, or the threat she had received, which was as yet unsolved and ambiguous. After pondering this for a few moments, she decided that it was probably a combination of these factors. Understanding this, and believing it to be the reason for his concern, made her even more resolute in her decision to invite him to spend some time with her that evening. It would give them both the chance to talk, and would be an especially great comfort to him.

"Would you like to look over the case file now?" She asked tentatively, raising her cup to her lips. Sherlock's gaze left his mug and met hers, and he watched as she gently sipped the hot liquid, before replacing the mug on the table.

"Of course." He replied simply, before pushing his mug slightly in front of him and rising from his seat, and walking briskly across the room and towards the living area. He returned moments later, case file and phone in hand, and began to dial before he had even reached his seat. Joan watched him curiously as he sat down in his seat, finished dialling, and lifted the phone to his ear. He flicked the case file open with a laziness and hint of boredom which she was accustomed to, and ran his index finger down the first page.

"Captain Gregson" he stated with confidence, removing his finger from the case file and tapping his fingers lightly on the side of the table. "No, no, everything is fine. Yes. Yes, of course. I am simply fulfilling your request for a consult." Joan stared at him with a puzzled expression, which he noticed, and nodded towards her before continuing to talk. "Three of the four robberies were committed between the hours of three and four in the afternoon, the fourth was at eleven in the morning, implying that the person in question is either unemployed or works free-lance in the area. Of course, it must also be noted that these incidences occur at times when the children have just been taken to school, or are about to be picked up. The footprints from the third scene and the hair from the second indicate that your suspect is male, blonde and fairly tall, between six foot one and six foot three, at a conservative guess. Which, interestingly, fits the description of the ex-husband of the fourth victim. He was surveying the house in order to find a way to kidnap his daughter, and used the first three incidences to distract the police, and make it seem as though the crime would be connected to robberies and possibly a ransom demand, as opposed to old-fashioned custody battles. Very boring, very tiresome and very obvious. Good evening, Captain." He stated with a sense of eager eccentricity which made Joan want to smile and chastise him in equal measure. He hung up immediately, closed the case file, and rested his phone upon it, before clasping his hands together and resting them in his lap. "Now that's over with, how would you like to spend the evening?" He asked amiably.

"Sherlock..." she began, glancing at him in a confused and slightly reprimanding manner.

"It's quite alright, Watson, I assure you" he began, tilting the mug on the table so that the handle was facing him, and rising it to his lips, taking a sip before continuing to talk in a fast-paced and animated fashion. "I reviewed the case in the Captain's office, and glanced over it again in the car, in order to confirm my suspicions. The time in which the crimes were committed implies that the person doing so was working around the dropping off and picking up schedule of a child in full-time education, not simply in nursery or daycare, as the times he struck meant that he had no work commitments. The children in the first and second apartments were less than three years old, the first only attending a daycare for a couple of hours a day, the second having a live-in nanny. The third case had a child who was the right age, but both parents were employed full time. In the fourth case, the mother is an attorney and the father was recently made redundant. The child is the correct age, and there was an ongoing custody battle, which the father was certain to lose. It was not a difficult task, Watson."

Joan nodded, raising her eyes as she lifted her hot mug to her lips. He never ceased to surprise her, even now. Despite having known him for almost three years, the working of his mind, and his deductive potential, fascinated her. She was in absolute awe of his skills, and knew that she could not even begin to understand how his mind worked. She was not completely certain that he did either.

"Very clever" she said eventually. "Amazing, really."

Sherlock nodded once, his eyebrows raising, before he attempted to feign modesty. "It was fine, really. It was immediately apparent that the father had something to do with it."

"Oh yeah? How?" Joan queried.

Sherlock shifted slightly in his seat. "Because out of all the divorced couples, he was the only one to be deemed... unsuitable for interaction with his child. Despite not having a criminal record, he snapped. People in certain situations often act in the most confusing and unpredictable of ways." Sherlock sounded sombre, although he was clearly trying to hide it. At that precise moment, Joan worked out what had been bothering him.

"You are nothing like him, Sherlock." She said quietly, pausing as she saw his eyes slowly close, and his head lean down slightly.

"My dear Watson, how can you be so sure? I can't, I don't know how I would react, or if I would do something that... I don't know. And if I don't know, then how can you?"

Joan pushed her mug away from her and clasped her hands together tightly, before resting them on the table and staring intently at Sherlock. "Because you care about your child, and its mother." She said quietly and simply. Sherlock seemed confused, so she continued to speak. "The fourth man was in the process of divorcing his wife because of his history of violent behaviour, which was also one of the reasons he was made redundant. He had also threatened to take his son before, and had vandalised some of his soon-to-be ex-wife's property. He is not you, Sherlock. Just like you are not like Mr Talbott." Sherlock shifted slightly at the mention of that man's name, and his eyes shone brightly, blazing with anger. Joan decided to shift the focus from her attacker to the present issue, and began to speak immediately. "The fourth husband acted the way he did out of hatred and possession, not love and desperation. He was willing to put three other families through a frightening and unnecessary ordeal in order to scare his wife. That is not you, Sherlock. That is cruel, cold and incredibly heartless. You are none of those things. You care more about our baby, and about us, than that man cares about anyone, save perhaps himself. You could never do what he did, Sherlock, and I know that because I know you. Anything you have ever done has been out of either sadness or love. And yes, you've made mistakes, you've pushed the boundaries, but you have never been cruel. You are not capable of it, Sherlock. Believe that, because I do."

Sherlock nodded slowly, running his right index finger down his mug, before removing his hands from the table and allowing them to fall by his side. He turned towards Joan and began to speak.

"I hope you know, Watson, that I would never... I could never-"

"I know" she stated with confidence and conviction. "I know."

Sherlock nodded once more, placing his hands back on the table, and tapping his right index finger nervously on the back of his left hand. Joan sighed gently, and unclasped her hand before reaching across the table and placing her hand over his. He felt the warmth and comfort of her touch immediately, and she became aware of the fact that the nervous tapping stopped instantly. Sherlock leaned back slightly in his seat, before sighing deeply and closing his eyes. "Thank you, Watson" he said eventually, before opening his eyes and turning to face her. She nodded kindly, her warm eyes shining brightly.

"You don't need to worry about that, Sherlock. Really. Do you think for a moment that I would be here, now, with you, if I felt that there was the slightest chance that you were anything like that man?"

"No, no I don't." Sherlock replied immediately and with certainty. Joan was kind, compassionate and incredibly tolerant, but he knew how protective she was over others, especially her child. She would never put their baby in a situation where he or she could be harmed, even with Sherlock.

"You are not a danger, Sherlock, not at all. In fact, you are the complete opposite. And I need you to believe that. Not for me, not even for the baby, but for you." She smiled slightly, holding his hands tighter as she spoke. "I believed it when I told you that I thought what you do is amazing. But that isn't just because of your intellectual capacity or deductive skills. It is because you are amazing."

Sherlock clenched slightly, and she began to relax her grip on his hand. He was clearly uncomfortable, possibly even doubtful of her words, but she would help him. She would make him realise how wonderful he was, and how lucky their child was to have him. He had made significant progress in the last few months, but the doubts had recently returned. And she was fairly certain she knew why that was.

"We will solve it, you know" she stated simply, watching as he turned slowly to face her. "The mystery of the secret letter. We'll find out who did it and why, but you mustn't allow that to change how you feel about yourself. The only person who you should be questioning is me, and my decision to keep it from you for so long. You have done nothing wrong, you haven't caused this or allowed it to happen. Besides, the threat seems to be gone. There is no reason for us to be afraid." Sherlock sensed the slight doubt in Joan's words, but nodded in response regardless. Her deductive skills were peaking, it seemed.

"Yes, Watson. Of course. But I don't blame you, you understand. Not at all." He spoke calmly, in a low yet even tone. Joan was grateful for his kindness, but felt herself unworthy of it. She, too, nodded in response, before removing her hand from his and rising from the table.

"It's cold in here, I'm gonna change. I will be right back, okay?"

Sherlock nodded in assent, and continued to stare forwards into the emptiness of the room until he could hear the sound of her bedroom door close behind her. He then reached his hand into his pocket and picked out his phone, dialling a few numbers before pressing the 'call' button. On the second ring, the phone was answered. "Alfredo" Sherlock stated in a low yet confident tone. "It's Sherlock Holmes. Yes, yes thank you. No, I... I have a request of you, if I may" he began, shifting slightly in his seat as he gazed over his shoulder, to make absolutely certain that he was completely alone. "It's regarding Watson."


	23. Chapter 23

Joan and Sherlock spent the next couple of weeks working from home, with Captain Gregson personally bringing them case files every couple of days. The consulting detectives would discuss the cases upstairs, usually at the kitchen table, for a few hours each day, before retreating to the lower floor. The case files remained upstairs, as did all discussions of them, which were banned from the sanctity of their child's rooms. The majority of their time was spent decorating the rooms, which were now all finished and furnished. The only thing that remained was to make the rooms feel homelier, and more personalised, which Sherlock and Joan both saw to. The rooms were beautiful, airy and light, with antique furniture which complemented the colour scheme and ambience. There were long, draped curtains and soft, warm rugs in each room, and it felt like the cleanest, safest and most peaceful place that could be created.

On one particular morning, Sherlock and Joan were sitting in the armchairs in the nursery, admiring the room in almost total silence.

"You know, I think something is missing." Joan began, fixing her stare at the space between the two shelving units, in which had been placed a connecting shelf. On the shelf were a couple of toys and odd items, but she was convinced that it did not feel quite right. Sherlock watched her with interest, following her stare to the offending area, before running his eyes across it.

"What do you feel is missing, Watson?" he asked gently, clasping his hands together.

Joan exhaled slowly, pursing her lips together as she thought. "I... I don't know, it's just... that space doesn't... it isn't being used in the best way, and the items on top of it seem oddly out of place." She paused for a moment, waiting for his reaction. "Do you see what I mean?"

Sherlock looked once more over to the shelf, and considered her concerns. He nodded briefly, and was about to answer her, when his phone began vibrating in his pocket. He exhaled deeply before reaching down and drawing it out, briefly scanning the called ID before answering it. "Yes, Captain Gregson" he added with an air of frustration, rising from the chair as he did so. Joan smiled to herself briefly, finding his reaction to a simple phone call highly amusing. She glanced up, and saw that Sherlock was pacing the floor in front of her, and making his way slowly across to the crib. He then paused, and his body tensed slightly, as he threw his head back. "Is it really necessary, Captain?" he asked, indignation clear in his tone. "Yes... fine, yes. Yes. I will be there presently." He hung up in frustration, before turning quickly and making his way towards Joan. "Watson I... The Captain has called me in, wants an opinion on what is, I am sure, the most trivial of matters." Joan looked at him with a familiar reprimanding glance, causing his eyes to widen slightly as he exhaled, and began to speak very quickly. "I assure you, I will be as quick as I can. If you need me, please call."

"Of course" Joan responded, nodding as she spoke. She then gave him a reassuring smile, and watched as he shifted uncomfortably on the spot. "What is it?" she asked.

"I have a strong suspicion that Captain Gregson wishes to impart on me some words of wisdom, as it were, considering how... how close you are to..."

"Yes. Well, possibly." She stated simply, glancing to one side for a moment. "I guess you'll find out when you get there. So go, please, I'm fine. And yes, I will call you if I need to." Joan smiled once more, impressed yet again by his deductive skills. She knew that he was correct, as it had been her who asked Gregson to talk to Sherlock, to reassure him. The Captain had children of his own, and he and Sherlock seemed to share a strong yet interesting relationship, and she was certain that the latter would listen to the former. She knew that, as her due date came closer, Sherlock was becoming increasingly agitated. He hid it well, of course, but it was clear. She was certain that some kind advice from Gregson would influence and reassure him more than he would care to admit, and the Captain had agreed to her request completely. As she looked up towards Sherlock, she saw him stare back at her, his wide eyes studying her with interest. He nodded briefly, saying goodbye to her and reassuring her that he would be back soon, before leaving the nursery and ascending the stairs. Joan spent the next few minutes staring at the shelf, and the rest of the room, in an attempt to figure out what it was that she felt was missing.

Shortly after Sherlock left, she realised. Books. Sherlock had bought many books for the baby, mainly antique (and expensive) editions of British fairy-tales and classic literature, as well as some from America, China and Latin America, which Joan had perused with interest. All of these books were kept on one of the shelving units at the back of the room, but the shelf between the other two units was bereft of books. Joan considered this for a moment, before deciding that she would rectify the situation immediately. Checking her watch, she quickly ascertained that the shops would be closing in just a couple of hours, so she resolved to leave immediately.

In less than ten minutes, Joan had changed herself into a pair of jeans, loose white t-shirt and brown heels, and was leaving the brownstone. She walked slowly to her car, placing her bag on the passenger seat, before driving a few miles to a small car park she often used, which was usually almost empty despite being conveniently located next to a row of shops. Joan grabbed her black jacket and pulled it on, before picking up her bag and easing herself out of her seat, locking her car and walking out of the car park. It was an unusually warm afternoon considering the fact that it was early November, but Joan did not mind this at all. It was getting darker much earlier, and she could already see the sun slowly preparing to set, and the sky was tinged a deep, charcoal-grey colour. She strolled down the street, glancing admiringly in several shops as she did, entering a few on occasion. In the third store, Joan hit the jackpot. She had entered a small, second-hand book store which she used to go in quite frequently, looking for antique medical and psychological texts, which she found fascinating. She had built up quite the collection. However, in all the times she had spent in this small shop, she never found herself drawn to the children's section. Occasionally she had glanced over, and noticed a few familiar titles, but she had never wandered over and looked through them. Until now.

Joan walked slowly over to the notably larger children's section, smiling at the elderly gentleman who owned the store as she did so, exchanging a few pleasant words with him once he had realised who she was. She had not been in the store since her pregnancy, and found herself chatting with him by the children's section for about ten minutes, before he was drawn away from her by questions posed to him by an irate customer. He apologised to Joan briefly, before following the gesticulating customer to another part of the store. Joan smiled briefly, before turning around and finding herself facing a mountain of books. There were some old paperback editions, as well as some newer and nicer ones, but the majority of the texts were beautifully illustrated hardback editions. Joan spent about a quarter of an hour here, running her eyes over every title, and picking up and examining several books. In the end, she settled upon five illustrated hardback editions, two of which were first editions. She bought Hodgson's 'The Secret Garden', Graham's 'The Wind in the Willows', both of Lewis Carroll's texts featuring Alice, and a collection of nineteenth-century nursery rhymes. Some of these books were fairly expensive, but she was not overly concerned. As the elderly gentleman who owned the store placed them in a neat pile and bound them with string, before placing them in a carrier bag, he smiled kindly towards her. She paid him, and they exchanged a few more kind words. Before she could leave, she was drawn back to him by the sound of his voice.

"Miss, Joan...?" he asked in a low, kind voice. Joan turned instantly on the spot, smiling as she saw his nervous expression. "I have something for you. Well, for... for your baby, really." He stated bashfully, as she slowly approached his desk. Joan looked at him with curious and grateful eyes, wondering what it could be that he had for her.

"Thank you, Frank, but that really isn't necessary. You've provided me with so much over the years!" She smiled.

"I'm glad to, Miss, glad to. It's always a joy to have you in my store" he began, his cheeks reddening slightly. "Besides, this is not technically for you" he stated, pointing a finger at her, before lowering it until he was indicating her abdomen. Joan sighed briefly, before turning back to him and smiling.

"Thank you, Frank. That's really kind of you." She stated, leaning slightly against the counter.

"Are you alright, Miss?" he asked, concern clear in his voice.

"Yes, yes absolutely" she replied instantly, in the same reassuring manner she often used with Sherlock. "I get tired very easily, is all." She smiled once more, and Frank nodded in understanding, before bending down and disappearing behind the desk. He was a slim, bearded, elderly man with a fondness for hand-made sweaters, but was as lithe and dexterous as a man half his age. Joan hoped to have a fraction of his energy when she reached his age. She'd even appreciate some of it now.

Within a few moments, Frank had risen from the ground, his face beaming with pride, and he placed a dark box in front of Joan, resting it on the counter. Joan placed her own bags on the counter, before gently easing the lid off the box, and gazing inside in amazement. Inside the box was a beautiful, antique edition of 'The Wizard of Oz', which had a dark cover with beautiful illustrations, and intricate lettering. She dared not touch it, fearing that she may somehow compromise the pristine-nature of its current condition. She stared at it in awe, before raising her head to meet the gaze of the book-seller. "Is this a-"

"First edition? Yes. Perfect condition, too. A wonderful book, Miss Watson, about the adventures of a very brave and very able young person in a totally unfamiliar and unstable world. The sense of adventure, excitement, love and acceptance, transcends everything else about this particular text. As soon as I noticed your condition, I knew I had to give it to you. It seems so appropriate." Joan placed her hand into the box, and ran her finger gently across the embossed lettering, before turning the front cover over and looking through a few of the pages. She stared at it for a moment, before looking up towards the bookseller and smiling.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. But are you sure? It must be worth-"

"More to us both in sentiment than to me in dollars, I assure you." The kindly old man smiled. "I have no doubt that your child will be wonderful, Miss Watson, and that their life will be one huge adventure, surrounded by people who love and accept him or her. I can't think of a more apt gift to bestow upon your baby."

Joan smiled, nodding slightly, as she focused her gaze once more on the book. She could fell herself beginning to become tearful, but refused to allow herself to cry. Certainly not in front of Frank who, she was sure, would have her rushed next door to his wife, who would make her a hot cup of tea and talk to her kindly for hours. Not that she would reject this, but she did not wish to impose. Frank had given her so much already, and her tears were mainly due to a combination of gratitude and hormones, not sadness or fear. She calmed herself within seconds, before looking up and smiling broadly at Frank, whose eyes lit up.

"This is... such an incredible gift, Frank, thank you. It's just... it's beautiful. I used to love this story as a child." She glanced down at the text again, running her finger down the spine, before placing the lid back onto the box. "Are you sure there is nothing I can-"

"The assurance that the book will be given to someone who will appreciate it is all the payment I require, Miss Watson. And from your eyes, I can see that you have already credited me with it." Joan nodded once more, thanking Frank, and assuring him that she would bring the baby to his store to meet him and his wife one day. Frank's kind old face became animated and excited, and he stated that he and his wife would be honoured to receive such guests. They spoke for a few minutes more, before Joan realised how late it was getting, and excused herself. Frank walked her to the door, planted a kiss on her cheek, and wished her well. He also made her promise to call him if she needed anything, reminding her that she had all of his contact details from when they would correspond on matters involving the acquisition of various texts. Joan assured him that she would, and departed, walking down the street with a smile upon her face.

It was four-thirty, and the shops would be closing soon. Joan decided to visit a couple more, including the baby boutique at the bottom of street which she had been meaning to go into for months, but had never quite got around to. She had intended on inviting Sherlock, but was not sure whether it was something he would like to do, and did not wish him to feel obligated. But as she looked towards the building, she began to think that he wouldn't feel that way at all. Perhaps she would ask him to accompany her there in the next couple of weeks.

In the boutique, Joan selected a couple of gender-neutral baby-gros, two sleep-suits and four blankets, all in different pastel shades. The blankets were warm and soft, and would be perfect for the colder months which would be coming shortly after the baby was born. She paid for her purchases and left the store, walking back up the street towards the car park. As she reached the car park, she saw a small jeweller's shop, which she had been in before to get one of her necklaces fixed. She thought for a moment, pausing on the spot, before making her way over towards the store, which she knew would be closing in less than ten minutes.

Joan perused the store for less than two minutes, knowing exactly what she was looking for. She paused by the ring cabinet, looking down for a moment, glancing across the rows of rings. Finally, her glance paused on one ring in particular. It was a gold Claddagh ring, which represented both romantic and platonic love, which was held in the small hands which met in the centre of the ring. She knew Sherlock's size, as he frequently left his rings in the bathroom after shaving. As she stared down at the ring, a pretty young store worker approached her, asking if there was anything she could do to help her. Joan smiled at her nervous girl warmly, correcting deducing from the newness of her uniform and the manner of her speech that she was a recent employee. Joan pointed to the ring, and asked whether they had it in Sherlock's size. The girl nodded quickly, blushing slightly, as she went out into the storeroom to check. She returned a minute or so later with a small black box, which she held in front of Joan as she opened it up, showing her the beautiful ring inside. It was perfect. What it represented, what it meant to them both. She smiled, nodding as she confirmed to the young girl that the ring was perfect, and she would like to buy it. The girl informed her that it was fairly expensive, due to the fact that it was eighteen carat gold. Joan smiled sweetly at her, assuring her that it would be fine, before adding that the ring was actually twenty-four carat gold. The girl looked down sheepishly, before nodding rapidly once more, and escorting Joan across the counter and towards the till, where the latter paid for the ring. The ring was kept in the same formal black box, which the girl placed in an expensive-looking red carrier bag, handing it to Joan. Joan smiled at her reassuringly, thanking her for her help, and wishing her all the best in her new job. The girl seemed surprised, but a kind and reassuring smile from Joan made her feel instantly at ease. She watched the woman with interest, staring after her as she crossed the road and approached the car park. Her curious observations were only ended when the manager strolled into the store, informing the girl that they needed to lock up. The tired and irascible manager's temper was soothed when he became aware of the new girl's most recent sale, and he congratulated her warmly on handling such a purchase. The girl smiled, thanking him, before staring back towards the door which Joan had just left. She felt her confidence rise.

It was five o'clock, and Joan was exhausted. She checked her phone as she walked into the car park, wishing to ensure that she had no missed calls from Sherlock who, she was certain, would be worried if he returned to the brownstone and found her gone. He was either at the precinct or at a scene, which relieved her greatly, as it meant that he would not be able to quiz her on her most recent purchases. She rose her head slightly as she strolled confidently through the car park, raising her car key in her left hand and unlocking it automatically, as she balanced her bags in her right hand. The car made a gentle unlocking noise and the lights flashed, just as she reached the passenger side door, which she opened carefully, before placing her bags on the seat. Joan suddenly became aware of how warm the evening was, and placed her keys next to the bags as she began to remove her jacket. She unzipped it slowly, before allowing it to fall from her shoulders, and was in the process of folding it when she heard a familiar yet unexpected noise from a few feet away. She could hear a baby crying.

She turned around instantly, frowning with confusion as she quickly surveyed the seemingly abandoned car park. There were only two other vehicles in the place, a large white van and a small red convertible. The white van was in the opposite direction to the noise, but the red car seemed fairly close. Joan noticed immediately that there was no one in the red car, or in the front seats of the white van. Despite this, the sound of the baby's cries began to rise, until she could no longer simply remain where she was and survey the scene. She closed her car door shut behind her, locking it with a button on her key, before walking quickly over towards the red car, which was parked at an odd angle. She crossed the car park in a matter of seconds, and the rising sound of the child's cries made her aware that she was certainly walking in the right direction. As she reached the car, she found herself feeling breathless and increasingly warm, and she placed one hand on the car to steady herself. The bonnet was very hot, and not due to the heat of the sun. It had been driven recently. Joan was utterly perplexed, but dispelled her confusion, relegating it to the back of her mind, miles behind the needs of the crying infant, who could be injured or abandoned. She balanced herself on the side of the red car, and leaned on it as she made her way around the vehicle to the driver's side, where the sound was coming from. As she looked down and began to lean forwards, she stopped still, shocked at what lay in front of her.

It was a black tape recording machine, playing a cassette tape of a crying child. Joan slowly began to rise, her hand still resting on the car, as she stared down at this item in confusion. By the time she realised what it implied, and had turned to head back to her car, she found herself face to face with the slim sale's attendant from the jewellery store. "Hello, Miss Watson" She stated pleasantly. Before she had time to react, the young woman reached up her hand, which held a syringe, and pressed the needle firmly into Joan's neck. Joan rose her hand instantly to her neck, before feeling suddenly very tired, and heavy-limbed. She felt herself sway slightly, before being caught by someone standing behind her, who lifted her into his arms as she lost consciousness.


	24. Chapter 24

* A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry again for the delay, I've been settling in to my new job. I will have the next chapter uploaded within 24hours, which will clear up the entire kidnapping plot. Thank you again for your patience and support, and please continue to let me know if there are any issues :) Thanks! HQ21

Sherlock had been at the precinct for a little over two hours before he was finally able to return to the brownstone. Captain Gregson needed his assistance with a case, which he had given willingly, leading to the identification and subsequent arrest of the perpetrator, followed by five minutes of remonstration for calling Sherlock away on a "completely mundane and excruciatingly boring piece of work" which "even the NYPD should be able to handle without consultation". This was said with a hint of sarcasm and a noted tone of gratitude. Gregson knew how worried Sherlock had been about Joan, and was fully aware that the best way to help him deal with his concerns was to draw him into the world in which he thrived in. Following the consultation, Gregson and Sherlock sat together in the former's office, where they discussed Joan and the baby. Sherlock seemed much more calm and relaxed than he usually did when the subjectwas broached, and spoke readily and openly about his concerns and fears. Gregson listened attentively, nodding at intervals, before offering him some paternal advice, and urging him to raise his concerns with Joan. "She adores you, Sherlock. And she wants to know how you are feeling about this just as much as you want her to tell you whenever she is feeling afraid. By telling her how you feel, she'll allow herself to do the same. You'd be helping her, Sherlock, in more ways than one." Sherlock nodded at Gregson as he spoke these parting words and thanked him sincerely, before the latter left the building. As Gregson watched him walk away a small smile spread across his face. Gregson had worked out the identity of the perpetrator half an hour before even calling Sherlock, and was surprised it had taken him an hour to figure it out. This could have had something to do with the fact that he removed the evidence log and analysis of the fingerprints found at the crime scene. Possibly.

Sherlock arrived at the brownstone at just after six o'clock in the evening, and was immediately struck by the silence of the rooms. Usually he would be able to hear Joan's music, the sound of her footsteps, or smell the homely and delicious food which she had recently become accustomed to making during the evenings. But as he entered the brownstone, and closed the door behind him slowly and with caution, he was overcome with an inexplicable yet overwhelming feeling that something was wrong.

"Watson!" He called into the empty house, his curious eyes darting from the staircase to the living area, trying to detect the faintest trace of her presence. Nothing. Sherlock took a few steps forward and called her name for a second time, but was cut off before he reached the second syllable, due to the vibrating of his phone in his pocket. He withdrew it sharply, and felt his heart sink slightly as the caller ID revealed that it was Alfredo, and not Joan, who was calling him. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes and massaging his forehead with his fingertips, as he answered the phone.

"Yes, Alfredo, what is-"

"Sherlock, Sherlock man, I-" Sherlock's eyes opened immediately, and his free hand fell to his side. He stood up as straight as possible, pressing the phone closer to his ear. Alfredo sounded distraught, weary and possibly even drunk. Sherlock screwed up his eyes in confusion, before interrupting Alfredo's confused ramblings.

"Alfredo, have you been drinking? Do you need me to-"

"Sherlock, it's Miss Watson." Alfredo said simply, breathing in slowly, his voice betraying a hint of pain. Sherlock began to realise that Alfredo was not intoxicated, but injured. Judging from his breathlessness and confusion, he suspected that he had suffered a head injury, and possible chest trauma.

"What is it? What's happened?" Sherlock asked urgently, his fingers tapping impatiently against his leg.

"Sherlock, she... she's been kidnapped, I-"

Sherlock's eyes widened and he shifted uncomfortably on the spot. He felt his heart and chest tighten, and fought the urge to vomit. He breathed in deeply, and before he could ask another question Alfredo continued to talk, speaking rapidly and with more clarity than his previous statements.

"I... I did what you asked, man, I... She left the house shortly after you did, and I followed her to a row of shops a few miles away. She parked in a local car park and just shopped for an hour or so, totally normal. But when she got back to the car park, I could tell somethin' wasn't right. There was a girl following her, from the jewellery store across the street. The girl had something in her hand, but I couldn't see what it was. At first I just kinda assumed Miss Watson had left somethin' in the store, but then... Miss Watson went to her car, locked her stuff inside, and then walked over to a red car in the parking lot. I don't know why, I was on the other side of the street. She bent down to look at or pick somethin' up, and then this same girl approached her. I got out of my car and started to walk over to them, when Miss Watson turned to face her, and the girl stuck in a needle in her neck. She fell, but was caught by these two masked, buff guys, who dragged her into a white van. The girl got into the red car and drove away first. I ran at the van, and tried to pull her out, but one of the guys hit me across the head with a crowbar and... I just got up, man, I... I called you as soon as I could-"

"Alfredo, when was this?" Sherlock asked, his eyes dark and his voice desperate.

"About a half hour ago. I'm sorry, man, I'm so sorry. You asked me to protect her and I..."

Sherlock closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, before opening his eyes and staring straight ahead, and not blinking. "It's alright, Alfredo, I... I-" he broke off, unable to console anyone, not Alfredo, and certainly not himself. "Where are you?" Alfredo gave him the address, and Sherlock nodded, ordering him to stay put. As he hung up, Sherlock continued staring ahead of him, his focus resting on Angus. He walked slowly towards the bust, and ran his finger down the cool porcelain, tilting his head slightly as he ran his fingertip down the nose. Within a moment, his eyes darkened and gleamed, and he lifted Angus with one hand and hurled him at the wall opposite, before raising both hands and holding them to the sides of his head, turning on the spot, before walking towards the front door. He could barely breathe, and he felt as though his whole body was on fire. His head was cloudy and muddled, and he felt both dizzy and highly nauseous. He stumbled down the steps and raised his arm to hail a passing cab, telling the driver the address, and ordering him to drive as fast as he could. When he had shut the door behind himself, he looked down at his phone, which was resting in his hands. He stared at it as though it were some unfamiliar and alien object, which felt as though it was becoming heavier with each passing second. He soon snapped out of his trance, and began to dial a familiar number, before pressing the phone tightly to his ear, and tapping his fingers on his thigh with his free hand. His whole body was shaking.

"Captain Gregson" he stated after the call was picked up on the second ring. "I... we need to-" He paused, breathing in deeply before staring straight ahead once more. He was not aware of how much time passed before he spoke next, but he was broken from his temporary trance by Gregson's voice calling his name.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you okay? Are you alright?"

"Watson's been... she's gone. She... She's been kidnapped." He stated, the final three words spoken quickly and in the same breath. Sherlock could hear Gregson rise from a chair and into a standing position, before rushing quickly across a room, which he assumed to be his office.

"What? What are you... What's happened, Sherlock? Where are-"

"We don't have time for this, Captain, now, I am going to give you the address of her last location, and I wish for you and some of your more capable officers to meet me there immediately? Yes? Good. Great. Thank you." Sherlock hung up immediately, dropping the phone into his lap as he continued to breathe deeply, shifting forward and then leaning backwards in his seat. He was fully aware of the strange look the cab driver was giving him, but chose not to comment upon it. He had no interest in giving the driver any reason to slow down, stop, or engage in conversation. He needed to get to the car park. Right now. He was aware of the multitude and nature of the thoughts which were running through his head, but he was refusing to allow them to consume him. He needed to be at his best, his most capable, in order to save the woman he-. Sherlock paused. What had he been about to think? Before he had a chance to ponder this further, he became aware that the taxi had stopped. Just as he was about to yell at the driver, he realised that they had reached their destination. _Less than four minutes_, he thought to himself, before passing the driver some money and throwing open the door, before practically sprinting to the scene.

As Sherlock reached the car park he noticed that there were already two police cars present, and a third unmarked vehicle, which he recognised as belonging to Captain Gregson. Alfredo's car was on the other side of the road, its door wide open, a coffee cup and newspaper resting by the front wheel. As he approached the car park, he saw that the only car present inside belonged to Joan. For a moment, it felt as though everything had stopped, yet the ground was moving, spinning, beneath his feet. There were several police officers inside the car park, a couple were investigating the car, one examining the tyre marks on the ground, and another was bringing a bagged object towards Gregson and Bell, who were standing with Alfredo by one of the stationary police cars parked near the entrance of the car park. Alfredo was leaning against the bonnet whilst Bell held a handkerchief to his head, applying gentle pressure. As Sherlock got closer to the officers, he noticed that the white material was saturated in blood. Alfredo turned his head towards Sherlock, and pushed himself from the bonnet of the car, before attempting to walk towards him. Even from the distance of several feet, it was clear to Sherlock that his sponsor was concussed. As Alfredo called his name quietly and staggered towards him, drawing the attention of Gregson and Bell to his presence, he faltered. Before Alfredo could fall to the ground, Sherlock had rushed towards him, placing one arm across his chest and another over his shoulder, before gently easing him up and guiding him back to the parked vehicle. Bell opened the back door, and Sherlock eased Alfredo into the seat, whilst he repeated the events which he witnessed to the other three men, who stood and listened with patience. When he had finished, Alfredo began apologising profusely to Sherlock, placing his hand on his head, repeating how quickly everything had happened.

"It's fine, Alfredo, it wasn't your fault" Sherlock said in a low tone, drawing Gregson's eyes to his face. Sherlock returned his gaze, staring at him with a cold and dark expression. Before either of them could speak, an officer rushed from behind them, calling to the Captain as he thrust an evidence bag under his nose.

"What the hell's that?" asked Bell, reaching for it. Before he could grasp it, Sherlock had snatched it from the grip of the aforementioned officer, whose anger was placated by Gregson's raised hand and brief explanation.

Sherlock turned the bagged object over in his hand, wondering what its significance was. He recognised it instantly as an old-style cassette player, from the late 1990s. He turned it over, rewound the tape to the beginning, and pressed play. The silence was penetrated by the anguished cries of an infant, which Gregson and Bell stared at in confusion. Sherlock's eyes widened, before closing, and he paused the tape before thrusting it back into the arms of the officer. Sherlock then turned towards the policemen and began to explain.

"This was found near the spot where the red vehicle was, yes? Mm. Alfredo says that Watson bent down to pick something up or look at it. I expect this device was initiated when the jewellery store worker saw her walk towards the car park. She ordered her henchmen to lie in wait, knowing that Watson would investigate a crying baby in a seemingly abandoned area. When Watson realised what was happening, it was too late." Sherlock swallowed, staring at the ground for a moment before looking back up to Gregson. "This is clearly the work of our letter writer."

"Hold on, now, we don't know that for sure-"

"No, no, you're right" Sherlock said in an agitated tone, his voice rising. "Perhaps it was the other person who threatened Watson and her baby. Yes, yes I'm sure that's what it is. This whole thing is just a massive coincidence!" Sherlock threw his arms in the air and turned on the spot, before turning back to face Gregson with blazing eyes, and talking in a much calmer yet equally sinister tone. "Captain, let us not waste time that Watson does not have. She was threatened, and then she was kidnapped. Occum's razor and an intellect above an IQ of 10 tells us that the two are certainly connected."

Gregson sighed deeply, running his fingers across his temple as he nodded. His eyes opened quickly, and he stared ahead of him for a moment, as his hand slowly drifted from his face and pointed in front of him. "I... When she came in... When Miss Watson first told me about the letters a few weeks ago, I put a trace on her phone. Even if it isn't being used, as long as it is switched on, we can locate her." Sherlock's eyes softened slightly, and he nodded in response, as Gregson picked up his phone and walked briskly away from them, the sound of his voice drowned out by Sherlock's own thoughts. Despite the fact that they were still investigating the note and the call, they had eliminated the viable suspects, and were completely at a loss as to who could have been sending the threats and why. As Sherlock considered this, he walked slowly from the police car, only to be engaged in conversation by Detective Bell. "Where are you going?" He asked, as Sherlock walked towards the crime scene.

"To evaluate the evidence, Detective. The evidence which would not exist if you had done your job properly in the first place, and heeded my warning." He replied coldly, whilst continuing to walk. Detective Bell followed him closely, remaining a few inches from his side. Sherlock was annoyed by the contact, and had no interest in any form of grovelling apology or condolence. He had work to do.

"Look, Holmes, I get it. You're mad, and you've got every right to be. But getting mad won't bring her back. If anything, it will prevent you from doing your... your thing, and figuring out what's going on. Now, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to search her car, Detective" Sherlock spat, as he reached Joan's vehicle and placed his hand on the door. "I am going to see if her phone is in here, because if it is, then Captain Gregson is wasting yet more time on something which he is largely responsible for." Sherlock tried to open the car door, which he did not expect to be locked. He clenched his jaw in frustration, before turning and walking a few paces away from the car. Bell watched him with a mixture of interest and confusion, as Sherlock then turned on the spot, walked back towards the car, and kicked the driver's side window. The glass shattered instantly, and the sound of the car alarm began to fill the streets. Sherlock knocked some of the remaining glass from the window frame with his elbow, before unlocking the car from the inside and opening the door. He then turned off the alarm, and pulled the bags from the front seat, placing them carefully on the ground as small shards of glass trickled from the car, spilling out onto the ground. Sherlock then looked under the seat and in the back of the car, as well as the glove compartment and sides of the doors. Within seconds, he was satisfied that Joan's phone was not in the vehicle. He sighed, as he rested his hand upon the car door for support, pulling himself up and walking towards the bags which were lying on the ground. As two officers approached and bent down next to them, reaching out for the bags with gloved hands, Sherlock's eyes blazed.

"Leave them." He ordered, in a tone which necessitated no further explanation or argument. The officers backed away slowly, and Sherlock crouched onto the ground, tearing the bags open and looking at their contents. Although it was unlikely that Joan's phone was in one of these bags, he had to be certain.

Sherlock first searched through the bag from the baby boutique, his hands hovering nervously over the baby clothes which Joan had bought. They were lovely. They were gender-neutral, soft, and so, so small. Sherlock had, of course, seen some of the baby clothes laundered and neatly folded in the nursery, but this was the first time that he had actually held some of the items in his hands. And the thing that struck him first, and that affected him the most, was the delicacy of the items. They were so fragile, so innocent. Just like Joan. Just like their baby. Sherlock breathed deeply, before placing the clothing and blankets gently upon the torn bag, and pushing it to one side. He felt that, if he looked at the bag for just a moment longer, he would be unable to control himself. He could feel his eyes glistening, his heart pounding, and his breathing becoming ragged. He could not lose control. Not here, not now. Joan needed him. His baby needed him.

Sherlock moved on to the next two bags, which appeared to have come from the same store. Sherlock removed the books with care, looking into each bag afterwards, and reassuring himself that Joan's phone was nowhere to be found. He sighed, before picking up the books and scanning the titles quickly. _Excellent choices, Watson_ he though to himself, as he placed them down upon the brown paper bag, and pushed them towards the plastic bag which held the baby items. Sherlock then came to the last bag, a deep blue one made from folded card. Due to its size and shape, he was fairly certain that the phone would not possibly be in there. But he had to check. He had to be sure. He lifted the bag with one hand, and tipped it slightly to the right, until a small black box fell into his hand. He looked at it with curiosity, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. He could feel from the weightlessness of the bag that it was empty, and allowed it to fall from his grasp, only for it to be collected by one of the two officers. Sherlock paid no attention to this, as he was firmly focused upon the small black box. It felt fairly light, and he wondered what could be inside. He considered that it was probably something for Joan, although he had seen baby bracelets, which she had admired. Although the box appeared to be too small for one of those.

Sherlock turned the box to face him, before raising the lid slowly and with caution. As he stared down at the object inside, he was conscious that his eyes had become heavy and sore, and tears were pricking their corners. The ring was beautiful. It was clearly for a man, and Sherlock noticed immediately that it was his size. The stone in the middle was stunning, and he identified it straight away as the birthstone of their child. It was the kindest, most beautiful and most incredible gift that he had ever received. Although technically, he had not received it. The ring was not given to him by Joan Watson, in a moment of kindness, thoughtfulness and gratitude. It was an item which he had plucked from the car of the woman he adored, who was in a perilous and highly dangerous situation, which he was unable to protect her from. Sherlock leaned back on his heels and stood instantly, breathing in deeply as he closed his eyes, forcing the tears back. After a few seconds, he was perfectly calm, and he opened his eyes slowly, shutting the box without looking at it. One more glimpse of the beautiful item inside would send him over the edge, and he knew it.

As Sherlock was about to turn back towards Joan's car, the familiar sensation of his buzzing phone drew his attention from it. With a mixture of anger and frustration, Sherlock lifted the phone from his pocket, and was fully prepared to throw it, before he read the caller ID. It was Joan.


	25. Chapter 24 Part 2

* A/N: Hey everyone :) Thanks for your patience and support! I know I said that the next chapter would deal with the kidnapping completely, but this is the second part to the previous chapter. The chapter which will be uploaded tomorrow (by 4pm GMT) will deal with Joan's kidnapping and its aftermath. Thanks again, and please let me know if there are any issues! :) HQ21

Joan's eyes opened slightly as she felt herself rise and fall on a solid surface. As she partially regained consciousness, she glanced tiredly around her, and realised within moments that she was in the back of a van. She closed her eyes once more, memorising the scene, and considering it in her mind. The van was fairly large, panelled, and had a wooden shelving unit near the front, on which were some laptops and other electrical and technological items. She had been being followed, she realised. This van, she was certain, was the one which was parked in the car park. She had been aware of two people behind her, as well as the woman in front, and considered that there could be no more occupants in this van. She saw the silhouettes of the men in the driver's and passenger seat, but did not know where the woman was. She was not in the back of the van with her, of that she was absolutely certain. Joan groaned slightly, shifting on the cold metal floor. This was far from an ideal position, and she turned slightly on her side to ensure that she was not putting any weight on her stomach. At that moment, she felt movement inside her abdomen.

The baby was kicking, with such strength and conviction that she gasped. She knew that her baby was strong, a fighter, but she had never felt him or her kick with such force before, and it took her breath away. She was not sure if the baby was afraid, or trying to reassure her. She tried to raise her hands to place them comfortingly on her abdomen, but found herself unable to do so. As she glanced down, she saw that her hands had been bound together using a plastic tie, which she felt cut into her skin as she attempted to free her wrists. Joan sighed, raising both of her hands and adjusting them slightly, so that the palm of her right hand was placed over the spot where the baby had just kicked. The moment that her hand reached her stomach, she could feel the kicking resume, and she closed her eyes, resting her head uncomfortably on the ground. She knew that to shout, to cry, or to antagonise her captors in any way would be both counter-productive and dangerous. Besides, she would need her strength in order to escape. A few moments after considering this thought, she began to feel drowsy once more. Her eyes flickered open, before shutting again immediately. She sighed gently, her mind a mixture of confusion and fear. She did not know what the woman had injected her with, but she believed it to be a mild anaesthetic, possibly the type used in hospitals. As Joan contemplated where a jeweller would get such an item, she lost consciousness once more, falling asleep with her tied hands resting on her abdomen, as her baby continued to kick.

She did not know how long she was in the van for, or in which direction she had travelled, but Joan found herself waking up as the vehicle came to a stop. Her eyes opened immediately, and she looked up towards the sound of the seatbelts unbuckling, and the doors to the van being opened. Joan felt her heart racing as she could hear the sound of footsteps on gravel, walking around the van and towards the back door. Joan closed her eyes tightly, breathing in slowly, before opening them once more. She had not had time to think clearly, or to try to understand why she was taken, or for what reason, but one thing she was aware of was that she was in an unfathomably dangerous situation. When she was kidnapped just over a year ago, it was terrifying, surreal, and she went through more than anyone should ever have to experience. She was drugged, threatened, terrified, and witnessed the murder of a dying criminal. All of this, she thought now, was bearable, compared to the fear and dread she was feeling due to the fact that this time was different from the last, because it involved another person. It was not simply her life at risk, but her baby's. She knew how dangerous stress was during pregnancy, especially during the later stages. She was also aware that, despite having four to six weeks left of her pregnancy she could, theoretically, go into labour at any time. And if it happened now, she would be powerless, and her baby would be in the greatest danger. Not just medically, but physically. The woman, who she assumed was the author of the letter, clearly displayed a disdain for children, and a lack of care over the well-being of Joan's baby. She did not want to consider what would happen if she had the baby here, now. As she considered this, and tried to control her breathing, she could hear the sound of a key in the lock behind her. Someone was opening the back doors. As if sensing her apprehension, she felt the baby kicking once more, with such strength that she gasped, moving her hand at the force. She inhaled a shaky, uncertain breath, before resting her hand on her abdomen, and closing her eyes.

The back doors were opened wide, and Joan could hear the sound of a different set of footprints. The sound was gentler, more delicate and, according to Joan's astute hearing and personal experience, a person wearing heels. It was the woman.

"Miss Watson, I know you're awake. The drug I gave you was rather mild." Came the same voice she heard earlier in the jewellery store. And to think she was concerned about the sweet, innocent new girl. Joan felt her heart beat faster as her thoughts became more lucid, and her memory of the last few hours returned with a greater degree of clarity. "Answer me." Commanded the voice.

"Do you really work in a jewellery store?" Joan asked in a groggy, sleepy voice, as the woman moved closer to her, and perched herself on the back of the van.

"No. No, a college friend does." She replied simply, swinging her legs childishly as her two henchmen held the doors open. "She needed someone to cover for her today, and I agreed. The store had a gorgeous necklace I was planning on... liberating, and so I thought, perfect. And then, would you believe it, I saw you." Her voice dropped slightly, and Joan opened her eyes, aware of the sinister nature which her tone had adopted. She turned slightly, moving from her right side to her back, and then pushing herself from the floor of the van into a sitting position, so she was facing the woman. The movement was much more difficult and problematic than Joan had anticipated, and she sighed at the effort, her heavy limbs aching. She was still feeling some of the affects of the 'mild' drug. She shifted herself slightly, moving her legs from beneath her, as she adjusted her focus to the dim light of the outside. They were on a gravelled area, surrounded by trees, grass and woodland, and not much more. Joan could not even see a road. As she looked around discretely, and rose her hands to move some hair from her face, the young woman was watching Joan with interest. "I couldn't believe it when I saw you. I mean, I had been intending on paying you a visit in a week or so. But then, I thought, this was much better. You were alone, the place was relatively deserted, and my boys were working just a few blocks away. The timing was perfect, the chances of you resisting or being saved minimal-" she paused, smiling slightly. "Well, slightly more than minimal, perhaps. That idiot associate of yours, he tried to help you. Unsuccessfully, I'm afraid. Tommy here had to... deal with him."

Joan frowned, thinking back to the scene. As she was losing consciousness, she had been aware of a strange sound, of someone calling her name. When she regained consciousness, she assumed that she had dreamed this. But then she remembered the voice, and the sound of someone approaching them. The men near her had panicked at the sound, almost dropping her. She thought for a moment, her mind and her memories still cloudy and uncertain. After a few moments, she heard the voice clearly in her head, and was struck by realisation. "Alfredo" she whispered, her eyes widening.

"Is that his name? Yes, well. I'm afraid 'Alfredo' is going to have quite the headache." The woman stated, pursing her lips together and continuing to swing her legs. Joan watched her with interest, before swallowing hard and attempting to speak. She wanted to sound more awake, more confident, and more together than she felt. Although she knew that this would be virtually impossible.

"What do you want?" Joan asked in a low yet gentle tone. The kindness in her voice surprised her, and it shocked the woman sitting just feet away from her.

"You don't know, do you?" She asked, smiling deviously. "You haven't figured it out, have you?" She grinned, turning from Joan to her men, before swinging herself around so that her legs were resting across the doorway of the van, and she was leaning against a door. "Don't you know who I am?" she asked, staring at Joan with her bright, brown eyes.

_Brown eyes_, thought Joan, as she continued to study the young woman. She was in her early twenties, tall, slim, and with delicate features which complemented her light blonde hair. She reminded her of a Jane Austen protagonist, although she could not remember which one. But then she realised that she reminded her of something quite different, someone much more real. And it was her eyes that gave her away. Her hair was different, and she had lost weight since the picture was taken, but it was her, without a doubt. Joan had not been paying much attention to her before, but now that she had time to consider her, she recognised her from the photograph. And she mentally rebuked herself for not realising who she was, and who had sent the note and made the call, sooner.

"You're Emily Lake's daughter." She said in a low tone, barely concealing her surprise. "There was a... a photograph of you and her together, in her office. You look-"

"Different? Yes. It's amazing the toll these things take on you." She sighed, turning from Joan and dangling one leg outside of the van, kicking the ground. "A few months ago, I was happy. I was in college, I was excelling at my studies, I had a part-time job, even a boyfriend." She turned to Joan, smiling slightly. "And then my mother was arrested." She spoke in a much lower, more sinister tone. "We talked everyday, you know. About everything. I knew about my brother, of course. She told me when I was very young. I think it's why she was such a great mother to me. She felt guilty. She felt that he deserved to be adored too, and so she projected all this love onto me." She turned back towards Joan, bringing her leg back up and crossing it over the other, slouching slightly against the side of the van. Her dark eyes glistened as she spoke, and Joan felt her heart racing. She tried to breathe slowly, carefully, in order to calm herself. She knew that it was imperative that she remained calm and did not panic. The baby needed her to be calm, and so she would be.

"They didn't let her talk to me. In prison, I mean." She stated very simply, in a low and even tone. "Apparently it was too dangerous. She could say something which would compromise the safety of the family she took. And it was then, really, that everything went a bit wrong. I started flunking my classes, got fired for turning up late once too often, and got dumped by my boyfriend after I gained a few pounds. All gone now, though" she said, staring at Joan with wide and vacant eyes. It was clear that the girl was overwhelmed by anger and hatred, possible even cruelty, and her current state would make it virtually impossible to reason with her. But despite this, Joan knew that she needed to try.

"What's your name?" She asked kindly, opening her eyes wider and watching the girl with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Hayley." She replied, nodding slowly. "Why? Looking for baby names?" She asked, in a tone so cruel and so icy that it made Joan shiver.

"Hayley, I'm Joan." She said kindly, as she began to feel more awake and more energetic than she had previously. "I'm sorry about what happened to your mother. I know that you blame me for it, and I understand. I played a... an integral role in her identification and arrest. Holding me responsible for taking her from you is understandable. But that doesn't change the fact that your mother did a terrible thing. She was punished for what she did, not what I did." Joan spoke carefully, in a calm yet comforting tone. She watched Hayley as she spoke, noting with concern that the young woman's face remained impassive throughout. So she tried a different tactic. "Wanting to hurt me, to punish me, is understandable. But it won't-"

"I don't want to hurt you, Miss Watson" Hayley began simply. "That would be counter-productive." She stared vacantly ahead for a few moments, before turning back and facing Joan directly. "I want to trade you" she glanced down to Joan's stomach, and her eyes widened slightly. "Both of you."

"Trade me?" Joan asked, meeting Hayley's frighteningly cold gaze. "I don't understand."

"It's very simple, really." Hayley stated, chewing on the side of her lip and brushing some hair behind her ear, before continuing to speak. "I want my mum, your police friends and boyfriend want you and your brat. If they give me my mother, I'll give them you." She smiled slightly, before frowning once more and tilting her head back. "A life for a life. A mother for a mother." she muttered absent-mindedly, the cool air from outside blowing her hair into her face. She moved it back slightly, placing more behind her ears, before turning to face Joan. "Perfect, right?"

"Hayley, sweetheart, I understand what you're trying to do. I get it. I really do." Joan said sympathetically, her eyes regarding Hayley with warmth and kindness, which seemed to unsettle the young captor slightly. "But it won't work. That isn't how this works, Hayley. They will not release your mother to save my life."

"But they'll condemn you, to an unknown yet almost certainly painful short future, instead of allowing a single person to walk out of jail a little early?" She asked, her blazing eyes gleaming.

"The DA will not overturn your mother's conviction, or allow her to leave, so I don't-"

"Ah, yes, no, I understand that. But you see, this is where my plan becomes particularly interesting and, if I say so myself, especially brilliant." Her whole demeanour changed, and she appeared to be much more confident and self-assured, almost arrogant. "I am not going to the DA. I am going to someone much more... able." She smiled at Joan, before swinging her legs behind her, and placing both of her hands on the bottom of the van. Hayley crawled across the van towards Joan, who did not flinch or show any outward signs of concern, much to Hayley's dismay. Hayley reached Joan's side, and sat next to her for a few seconds, regarding her with interest. After a few seconds, she reached out a hand, holding it above her abdomen, before drawing it downwards towards Joan's pocket. Joan inhaled deeply, shivering slightly at the touch of her captor. Hayley noticed this, and looked up at her with a smile, as she slid her hand into her pocket and withdrew her phone. "I believe this is what they call 'killing two birds with one stone'" she smiled, raising Joan's phone and unlocking it. She was doing something which Joan could not see, and then her eyes shone with satisfaction, as she pressed a button on the screen and held the phone to her ear. "You are being punished for your offences, and I will ensure that my mother is freed because of your own weaknesses. And the weaknesses you undoubtedly inspire in others. Including those you love." Joan stared at her for a moment, attempting not to betray the confusion she felt. She shifted slightly in her position, adjusting her hands slightly and resting them at the bottom of her abdomen. As the phone dialled, Hayley stared at Joan's stomach, which made the latter feel incredibly uncomfortable. The fact that she stared at her stomach during the entire duration of her phone conversation disturbed her even more, as did the fact that she was talking to the person that she was.

"Ah, Mr Holmes." She stated sweetly, her eyes not leaving Joan's stomach. "Yes, yes she is quite alright, I assure you. No, no, completely unharmed. For now." She paused for a moment, and Joan watched her eyes as she listened to Sherlock speak. The volume on her phone was not loud enough for Joan to hear what Sherlock was saying, but whatever it was was clearly unnerving Hayley. "It's simply, Mr Holmes. If you want your girlfriend and your child, you will obey my instructions. I want you to plan, orchestrate and carry out the... the recovery of a certain prisoner, whose life I will exchange for this woman and her brat. A life for a life, a mother for a mother. A fair and amicable deal, I think you'll agree. You get what you want, and I get what you want." There was a brief pause, and Hayley smirked, before sighing deeply and responding to Sherlock. "My mother is Emily Lake. And if she is not out of prison within the next twenty-four hours, your girlfriend is dead. I will call you again in four hours time. Do not inform the police, do not attempt to trick me, and do not do anything which would in any way antagonise me. I assure you, Miss Watson and the baby will suffer for it." She hung up, and slid Joan's phone across the floor of the van until it hit the panel opposite. It was not broken or damaged, but the gesture was clear enough.

"Your boyfriend had better act fast, Miss Watson." She stated simply, turning as she got out of the van. She then brushed off her clothes, adjusted her fitted black blazer, and turned back to face Joan. She then turned her attention to the man standing to her right. "Take her inside. And make sure she is tied up tightly. Not that she is able to put up much of a fight, of course." She smiled cruelly, and Joan watched her as she walked slowly to the right of the van, to a place which was obscured by the open doors. As she did so, the man Hayley had just been talking to reached into the van and pulled Joan closer to him, holding her tightly by the shoulders, before pulling her slowly from the van. His actions were considerate, almost gentle. This surprised her. She recognised his grip immediately, as well as the feeling of a ring he wore on the middle finger of his right hand. He was the same man who caught her, and prevented her from falling. He did not have to. If she had fallen to the ground, Hayley would not have been concerned. So why was he? Why would a man involved in a kidnapping plot with a psychopathic student be so considerate over the well-being of the captive? As Joan pondered this question, she was led to the same place that Hayley had began to walk towards. It was an abandoned rangers' station in the middle of nowhere.

Sherlock hung up the phone, and breathed in deeply as he tapped his fingers on the face of the item. The daughter, of course. He could not believe that he had been so stupid. How could he have overlooked such a thing? Joan had mentioned a daughter, he was certain of it. Something to do with a photograph. As he considered this, he became aware of the sound of someone running towards him. He turned around instantly, only to be greeted by Captain Gregson, who was holding his police radio in the air, and wearing the unmistakable look of triumph. "We got it, Sherlock. We've got her location."


	26. Chapter 25

Sherlock stared at Gregson for a moment, slowly allowing his hand to fall to his side, before walking cautiously towards him.

"You've found her?" He asked breathlessly, his wild eyes widening.

"Well, we... we have narrowed her location down to a two mile radius. She's about ten miles away, in an area surrounded by forestry and woods. In the two-mile radius there are approximately seventeen buildings, private and public, which we need to eliminate. But she's there, Sherlock. And we will find her. I've got my guys looking over CCTV and traffic cameras, as well as interviewing witnesses from nearby streets and stores, including the jewellery store owner, who isn't being too helpful, I'm afraid. But we'll trace the cars or eliminate buildings one by one until we find her. It won't take long, Sherlock." Sherlock exhaled sharply, running his hands across his face, before looking up at Gregson's weary eyes. "I know this isn't exactly what you wanted, Sherlock, but-"

"No, Captain, it is not" Sherlock spat, staring at Gregson with wide and angry eyes. "What I wanted was for Watson to be safe, to be protected. But instead, she is in the middle of nowhere with at least three individuals, who-" Sherlock stopped, remembering Hayley's warning. He pondered this for a moment, and considered how Joan faced the same issues which he was currently battling. Although he forgave her, he found that the present situation helped him to understand her motivation even more. But it also made him aware of the cost of concealing such information. "I just got a call from Joan's phone. It was from her captor." Sherlock began, before explaining the entire conversation to Captain Gregson, who nodded at intervals, before raising his radio and barking some orders to other officers.

"We'll find this 'Hayley' woman, and we'll pull her license and her history. We will find her, Sherlock." Gregson said gently, watching the agitated man with a paternal gaze. "Thanks for... you known, keeping me in the loop." He stated simply, swallowing as Sherlock stared up at him with blazing eyes.

"Believe me, Captain, I did not do it for you." He said in a low tone. Before Gregson could respond, Sherlock looked down at the floor, then towards the police cars. "There is nothing else for us here. We should head back to the precinct and begin narrowing down the possible locations. It's the quickest way to find her." Without leaving any time for Gregson to respond, Sherlock walked briskly past him and towards the Captain's car, knowing that he would follow him and agree to his request. As he approached the vehicle, he felt a pang of remorse at the way in which he had spoken to Gregson. The Captain was not responsible for Joan's current situation, and Sherlock knew that. He was just having trouble processing things at the moment, and found himself unable to think clearly and objectively. As he rested his hand upon the passenger side door, and watched as Gregson slowly opened his own door, Sherlock wondered whether Joan was experiencing the same emotional and intellectual issues.

As Sherlock opened the door to the car, the door to the van which Joan had been held in was slammed shut as she was pulled from it. The man she now knew to be 'Tommy', the more aggressive and burly of the two, had slammed the door shut and was storming ahead, following Hayley towards the small wooden building. The man who had helped her from the van, the slightly slimmer and more gentle of the two, remained by her side. She stared up at the building, with its old and unfinished wood in need of repair and completion. The building itself was fairly small, constructed from an orange-brown wood, with several windows and a large, padlocked door. A small staircase led up to the front door, which Hayley was now climbing. As Joan took a cautious step forward, she faltered slightly, and found herself being supported once more by the man at her side.

"Miss, careful, hey" he stated in a kind voice. He was clearly quite young, about the same age as Hayley, and appeared to be notably nervous. Before Joan could slip, he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her closer to himself, holding her steady before attempting to walk again. "It's just the meds, Miss, but they will wear off soon, really. I... I told her to use slightly less, but... I..." he sounded agitated, and incredibly shaky. By his use of the term 'meds', Joan correctly established that this was the man who had got hold of the drugs used to subdue her. This explained his previous role, but not the current one. This was clearly not something he was comfortable with, and Joan found it incredibly perplexing that he would involve himself in something like this, when it was clear that he wished to be anywhere but here, now, with them.

"Thank you" she said cautiously, offering him a small, weak smile. He nodded in return, his deep blue eyes glistening through the black ski mask. Joan then turned from him and faced forward, and slowly began to walk towards the building. She felt stronger and more conscious with each step, and the outdoor air revitalised her measurably. Although the still felt fairly tired and slightly groggy, she felt more alert and wary than she had done in the past hour or so. It was clear that this man was different to Hayley and Tommy. He was not cruel, or cold, or callous. He was gentle, kind and considerate. Despite what he was involved in, he did everything he could to ensure her safety and comfort. This made the reason for his involvement in such a plot even more confusing. He was clearly morally opposed to it, and was notably nervous and agitated. Either he was being coerced, which seemed unlikely, or he was doing it for another reason entirely.

"Are you and Hayley... friends?" Joan asked cautiously, in a calm and gentle tone.

"Yes... Well, I... she's..."

"I see." Replied Joan in a low, quiet voice, as they approached the steps. "It's alright, you know. It's okay."

The man looked down at her for a few moments, watching her with interest. She seemed nice. She wasn't the nasty, cruel and vindictive woman Hayley described. She was different.

"I... I'm Jeremy." He said quietly, as he helped Joan up the first of the steps. Joan looked towards him, nodding in response, and offering him a small, reassuring smile. He was clearly comfortable enough to talk to her, to reveal personal information. Perhaps he would be able to help her. As this thought entered her mind, Joan reached the top step, and Jeremy pushed the door open for her. As she entered, the eyes of Tommy and Hayley met her own, before looking at Jeremy with a mixture of concern and contempt. Joan decided, then and there, that she would help Jeremy too.

Joan took a few moments to consider the inside of the building, which was slightly smaller than she had expected. The room was fairly square, with items and furniture being pressed up against the walls, so that the middle of the building was cleared. To her left was a desk, covered in old papers and bottles of water, which was leaning uncertainly against the wall. In front of the desk was an old oak chair, which was facing towards the doorway, and was where she expected she would soon be guided to. Towards her left was an old and clearly broken water cooler, which buzzed occasionally, whilst gently gurgling. Next to it was a set of moth-eaten armchairs and a small oak table, covered in old newspapers and empty food wrappers. Tommy was standing just in front of these chairs, and slowly removed his ski mask, revealing his sandy blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He was a tall man in his early forties, with a weather-beaten face and dark eyes. He had a tattoo on his left temple, and wore rings on almost all of his fingers. He watched Joan with wide and blazing eyes as she entered the building, and his glance was enough to force her to shift her attention from him and straight ahead of herself. At the back of the room were a couple of old and worn sofas, on which Hayley was reclining herself, placing one leg across the other, in a manner which reminded Joan of her mother. Although she certainly lacked the same kind, welcoming and non-judgemental expression. Hayley was gazing at her with cold, cruel eyes.

"Have a seat, Miss Watson" ordered Hayley in an icy tone, as she indicated to the seat by the ranger's desk. "Sorry about the space, but we won't be here for long. And we aren't all staying."

Joan nodded, and Jeremy released his grip on her waist, before following her cautiously over to the chair. She slowly eased herself into it, and adjusted herself so she was comfortable. This took a few seconds, as the chair was old and weak, and she was fairly certain that one of the legs was at least two inches shorter than the others. As she pondered this, Jeremy moved in front of her, and removed his ski mask. He looked just as Joan imagined he would. He was a young man in his early twenties, with dark brown hair and glowing blue eyes. His face wore a kind yet pained expression, and he was clearly of a nervous disposition. Despite his kindness and his demeanour, Joan found herself leaning away from him as he approached her, and reached out his arm to grab something behind her. He wore a slightly hurt expression as he observed her fear, before drawing his hand away from the desk and handing her the object which he had picked up: an unopened bottle of water.

"This will help, Miss" he began gently, helping her to unscrew the cap, which was difficult with her restrained wrists. "One of the side effects of the drug you were given is dry mouth, and I..." he paused, aware of the fact that the two people behind him were watching him, listening carefully. "It'll be in everyone's best interests if you remain conscious, which will be possible only if you remain hydrated."

Joan nodded, accepting the water gratefully, and began to gently sip. The water bottle was clearly unopened, and her captors had no reason to harm her immediately. Certainly not in such a covert manner, at any rate. Joan drank the water eagerly, pulling her head away after a few seconds, and thanking Jeremy.

"Adorable, Jer, really." Stated Hayley, pulling herself from the couch and walking towards Joan. "Your kindness has always been one of your most attractive features." Joan watched with interest as Hayley planted a chaste kiss upon Jeremy's cheek, before pulling his head towards her own, and kissing him more passionately. Jeremy returned the kiss, tentatively and uncertainly, as Tommy watched with an impatient and, Joan suspected, jealous expression. Hayley was the first to pull out of the kiss, before walking towards the front door, resting her hand on the handle before turning towards Tommy.

"Check her binding, would you? Can't have her getting loose."

Tommy nodded immediately, and began to stride towards Joan. His oppressive presence and cruel demeanour unsettled Joan, who inhaled deeply and was determined not to break his gaze. She shifted slightly in her seat as he approached her, removing her ties from her hands, before pulling her arms forcefully behind her back and attaching her to the wooden sections of the chair using new plastic ties. The force by which he pulled her arms back caused her to hiss in pain, crying out slightly as she could feel her old shoulder injury being aggravated. Joan bit her bottom lip and stared towards the ceiling, trying to calm herself as her hands were restrained behind her back. She found herself feeling even more vulnerable and powerless than she had done before, and was only drawn from her thoughts by the return of her baby's gentle and reassuring kicking.

"Hey, hey man, that's enough" stated Jeremy, walking past Tommy and checking Joan's restraints. The force by which Tommy had pulled her back and applied the restraints caused the plastic to cut into Joan's wrists, which were sore and slightly bleeding. "These are too tight, man, you're hurting her."

"Is that a fact?" Tommy stated, turning to face Jeremy, and walking towards him until they were just inches apart. "I don't want her getting loose, do you? Her restraints need to be tight. How they are now will make sure she doesn't try to get out. The more she pulls, the more she hurts herself, see?" He stated coldly, pointing at Joan as he spoke. Joan watched the scene with interest, whilst attempting to adjust her hands so the plastic was not cutting into her skin. She breathed in deeply as she did so, calming herself with her deep inhalations, and by the soft kicks of her baby. Surprisingly, she found herself feeling remarkably calm.

"She isn't going anywhere. The road is three miles away, and this area is completely deserted. Plus she is heavily pregnant. Really, where's she gonna go?" Jeremy returned, his voice sounding more confident and assured than Joan believed him capable. She was impressed, and very grateful.

Before Tommy could respond, Hayley stepped away from the door and towards her associates, placing one hand on Tommy's shoulder as she did so, causing him to turn immediately to face her. "Wait for me in the van, okay? I'll just be a sec." He nodded, glancing from her to Joan, then fixing a cruel and threatening stare on Jeremy, before turning quickly around and storming out of the building, slamming the door behind him. Joan winced.

"Jeremy, Jeremy" Hayley called seductively, running her hand down his arm. "I need you to focus, right? I need you to do this for me. You know how important this is, right? And you know how grateful I'll be?" She smiled sweetly at him, and Jeremy's gaze fell to the floor, and he nodded in response. "Good" she stated, in her usual arrogant tone. "Tommy and I need to go and get some supplies. This was not supposed to happen for another week or so, so we are unequipped" she stated, turning to Joan. "And we must be better hosts, mustn't we?" Joan did not respond, and Hayley soon turned back to Jeremy. "Whilst we're gone, I want you to check the perimeter. There shouldn't be anyone around, but I wanna be sure. Walk it, okay? Go about half a mile forwards and then follow the trail round in a circle, before heading back here. And before you leave, tape her mouth, will you? Not that we need to worry about that." Jeremy nodded, and Hayley took a few steps closer to him, pulling his face towards her own and kissing him on the lips. "I love you, baby." She stated, smiling at him. Jeremy nodded in response, his cheeks reddening, and the same schoolboy nervousness returning to him. It was clear that she did not love him at all, and Joan suspected that she did not even like him. It was much more probable that his access to drugs and his knowledge of various narcotics was the factor which led to her manipulation of his clear adoration of her. She smiled once ore, before flashing a cold glance towards Joan, and leaving the building. Jeremy and Joan remained in total silence, Jeremy staring at the door and Joan watching Jeremy with curiosity and anticipation, as they both heard the van drive away, the sound of crushed gravel penetrating the silence.

"I'm sorry" Jeremy said immediately. "I am so, so sorry, Miss." Joan looked up at him curiously, her warm eyes widening, and offering him a reassuring glance.

"What are you apologising for, Jeremy?" She asked quietly, her expression one of interest and concern.

"She... She said you lied, that you coerced her mother into confessing to something she didn't do. She... she said that you were... that you destroyed her... that you..." Jeremy broke off, unable to continue. He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. Joan realised that she needed to attempt to calm him.

"It's alright, Jeremy. It's okay" she began cautiously, as his eyes slowly opened, and he glanced apologetically towards her. "What she told you... it wasn't true. I didn't coerce her mother, no one did. She was guilty, and a jury convicted her. She was not forced or coerced into anything, I assure you."

"I know" she said simply, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "I think I always knew. It's just... she said that she... that we would..."

"I know" Joan began, sparing him what she knew would be a difficult conversation for him. "I know, Jeremy. And it's okay. It's going to be okay."

"She didn't tell me you were pregnant." He stated, his cheeks flushing with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "When I saw you across the street, I realised. I told her, don't use the drug, don't... but she insisted. She said that it would be okay... she said..."

"It will be, it's okay. I'm a doctor, it's fine" Joan assured him, looking up at him with bright, warm eyes. "The dose she gave me was very small, I was only unconscious for... what, less than an hour? And the baby has been moving regularly, believe me. Everything's fine." She smiled slightly at him, and felt herself feeling slightly more at ease.

"I'm sorry" he repeated, lifting his hands in defeat. "If I had known, if she... I would never-"

"That's not important, Jeremy. What matters is what happens now." Jeremy looked towards her, turning slightly to face her directly. "Jeremy, you did a terrible thing. But it was a mistake, okay? I understand it, I really do. But what is important is what you decide to do now." Jeremy watched her with interest, nodding at her statement. "Jeremy, will you help me?" She asked, her voice remaining even and confident as she made the request, and hiding the fear which she was feeling in the anticipation of his response.

Jeremy looked away from her for a moment, tilting his head to the side slightly. For a few moments, he appeared to be deep in thought. Joan did not move or speak, not wishing to interrupt whatever thought processes or internal debates he was battling. She knew that what she was asking was difficult, certainly of someone of Jeremy's disposition. But he was not like them, he did not want to see her hurt. He was in over his head, and he knew it.

A few moments later Jeremy turned towards Joan, walking up to her slowly, before reaching behind her once more, his hands delving into the top drawer of the desk. Joan felt her heart racing as she heard the movement of various objects inside the drawer, as they were being pushed against the wood. A few seconds later Joan heard the drawer close behind her, and could feel Jeremy's hands running down her forearms. She tensed slightly at the touch, before exhaling deeply and closing her eyes, as she felt his hands travelling towards her own. The contact was troubling due to the intimacy, as well as the fact that her wrists were throbbing. She hissed in pain, causing him to remove his hands immediately, apologising as he did so. She assured him it was fine, and offered him a few placating words. Moments later, he returned his hands to her wrists, and pressed something hard and metallic against her skin. Joan identified the unknown object as the blades of some scissors, which Jeremy was pressing at the space between her skin and the restraints. Within a couple of moments, he had cut her free, and moved back in front of her.

Joan's eyes widened as she slowly drew her hands from behind her and close to her body, rubbing her wrists tentatively. They were bruised and cut, with clean and non-serious lacerations covering the bottoms of her arms. Jeremy reached towards the desk and picked up a length of white material, which was to be used as a gag, and tore it into strips. He passed them to Joan, and assisted her in wrapping them around her wrists. The make-shift bandages served their purpose, and the material was cool and comforting against her burning skin.

"Thank you" she stated, her voice breaking slightly. "I can't imagine how... what it took for you to do this, to help me." He nodded in response, offering her a small and nervous smile. "But you aren't safe here, do you understand? You should come with me, we could-"

"No, Miss. No, I can't do that." He stated with conviction, in a tone which Joan knew meant that his mind was already made up. "I... she needs me. Despite everything, I want to... I need to make sure that she-"

"You're right, Jeremy, she does need help. But it is not the kind of help that you can provide." Joan stated gently, and Jeremy's head fell. "I think what you are trying to do is wonderful, but you are putting yourself in incredible danger. Don't do this Jeremy, please."

"I'm sorry, Miss" he responded immediately, meeting her gaze for the first time since they had met. "I'm sorry for what... for what I helped to do to you, and I hope you can... I hope you'll be alright. If you leave now, I'll begin searching the perimeter. I'll hide these restraints in the woods, and tell her you... I dunno, you must have run off or something. She won't be back til dark, we won't be able to find you." Joan nodded, and was about to try to convince him to reconsider, before her thoughts and attempts at speech were interrupted by his own. "If you walk about a half-mile north there is a dirt road. Follow it, and it will lead to a gas station. If you leave now, it'll take you about an hour."

Joan nodded, before finding her glance falling towards his hands. "I have another idea" she stated, her eyes falling on the scissors he was holding. "May I have those?"

"Yes, yeah, of course" he responded in an agitated and urgent manner, handing the scissors to her. "What for?" He asked, as she slowly eased herself from her seat and moved her shoulders back, attempting to soothe the increasing pain she was experiencing in her shoulder. She was certain that today's activities had affected her recent injury.

"They will provide a perfect substitute for keys." She stated simply, smiling briefly at him, before turning to walk towards the door. "Jeremy, are you sure you won't come with me? I can help you, I promise you, we could-"

"She needs my help, Miss. And I owe it to her. Now more than ever."

"Helping me does not mean you owe her anything, Jeremy. Please, please come with me." she asked, her voice becoming urgent, panicked.

"I can't" he said simply, raising his shoulders slightly. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I don't deserve your help, Miss. And we both know what would happen the moment I am back in the city."

"I could let you out, I could help you to-"

"No" he smiled, shaking his head. "No, no it's alright. I am staying, but thank you. You must leave though. I don't know how long they will be, but it should be at least an hour. You've gotta get moving."

Joan looked back at him once more, watching the innocence and kindness seep from his face, and be replaced with a cool and almost confident mask, which neither of them believed. Joan nodded, before thanking him once more, and opening the door.

The coldness of the air struck her at once, and she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the clear, comforting air. As she opened her eyes and exhaled, she placed one hand on the bannister and slowly made her way down the stairs, crossing the gravelled ground and making her way slowly towards Hayley's red car. The red sports car was parked at an angle, and Joan realised immediately that the keys were not in the ignition, or anywhere else in the car. She tried to open the door, with no success, and so instead eased herself over the top of it, sliding gracelessly into the leather driver's seat. Joan acted quickly, disconnecting the metal panel beneath the steering wheel with the assistance of the blades of the scissors, before pulling out a mass of wires. She soon identified the ones which she was searching for, stripping them to expose their copper insides. A few seconds later, she held the wires in opposite hands, striking the ends of the copper wire together, causing sparks to fly out and the engine to begin to sound. Within seconds, the engine had started, and Joan breathed a sigh of relief. She wrapped the wires around each other, before allowing them to fall below the steering wheel. She dropped the scissors into the passenger seat, and turned the wheel to the right, relieved to find that her plan had worked. _Alfredo would be proud_, she thought to herself. Before she drove out of the enclosed area, she turned her glance back towards the building, and found herself staring at Jeremy's face. He had watched the entire scene, curious to know what her plan had been. She nodded towards him, and he raised his hand slowly in response, waving slowly and cautiously. Joan could feel her eyes welling up, and she nodded once more, breathing in sharply. She then lifted one hand from the steering wheel and returned his gesture, her eyes not leaving his face until he stepped slowly back from the window. Joan the turned to face forward, nodding slightly, before placing both hands back upon the steering wheel. She then rose her right arm and placed it on the back of her seat, staring behind her as she reversed, and drove speedily out of the enclosure, the sound of spraying gravel marking her departure.

At the precinct, Sherlock and Captain Gregson had been working tirelessly for the past hour or so. From the seventeen buildings, they had used CCTV images and traffic cameras to eliminate eleven, meaning that there were just six remaining. Sherlock considered these for a few minutes, identifying them on a map, before eliminating a further three.

"Alright, everyone, listen up!" Called Captain Gregson as he walked from Sherlock's side into the middle of the precinct, which was filled with dozens of officers. We have narrowed it down to three possibles. Divide yourselves up, and each take a location. The addresses are on the board. Now, I want everyone to be on high alert. The woman who orchestrated this event has access to certain narcotics, and is being assisted by two other associates. Now, I want everybody to-"

Before Gregson could complete his instructions, he found that the entire room had quietened, and that all of the officers were staring past him at a spot near the front door. Sherlock also noticed this silence, and turned around instantly, drawing his attention away from the map. As he moved forward to see what the officers were staring at, he felt certain that his heart actually stopped for a moment. Just a moment, though, for it began to race with relief and exhilaration immediately afterwards.

Joan Watson was standing less than ten feet away from him.


	27. Chapter 26

Despite the fact that the entire room was filled with people, all standing completely still and staring at the woman they were working on rescuing, it felt as though Sherlock and Joan were the only people in the room. Joan was standing about ten feet from Sherlock, and was staring at him with weary and confused eyes. It was remarkable how silent the room was, with none of the officers or other individuals uttering a word, just staring in wonder and confusion at Joan. Sherlock stared at her intently, running his eyes analytically over her body a couple of time, until he assured himself that she had no serious or life-threatening injuries, his eyes remaining on her abdomen for several seconds, which she noticed. Her eyes were weary and tired, and her expression slightly pained, but she appeared to be alright. Her clothes were slightly dishevelled, and there were faint traces of blood on the side of her head where she had hurt herself in the van, but other than that, Joan appeared to be fine. Physically, at least.

"Watson" he stated, in a low tone which he did not recognise. Joan opened her mouth to respond, but found herself bereft of both words and the power of speech. Instead, she simply exhaled sharply. The frightened look on his face, and the worrying and unfamiliar sound of his voice, made her suddenly aware of the gravity of the current situation, and she suddenly felt extremely overwhelmed. As she was experiencing these thoughts and emotions, she was unaware of the fact that Sherlock was moving towards her quickly. His heart beat faster as he crossed the room and reached her side in a few strides, before pausing just a step in front of her. He surveyed her once more, before looking at her face. She had a minor cut on the side of her head, which she was possibly unaware of, but otherwise seemed to be physically unharmed. He looked from her head to her eyes, which had a detached and vacant expression. She did not seem quite aware of what was going on. "Watson, Watson" he repeated gently, reaching his hand down slightly and wrapping his hand gently around her left wrist. Joan hissed in pain and pulled her hand from his grasp, which seemed to draw her out of her confused state, as she looked up at him apologetically, whilst holing her wrist close to her chest.

Sherlock raised his hand in a surrender-like position, before taking one step closer to her and placing his hand upon her fingers, before turning her hand gently over and drawing her wrist towards him. Joan remained silent, her eyes still displaying the same apologetic expression. Sherlock looked down at her wrists, and was surprised that he had not noticed these injuries before. Joan had several lacerations to both wrists, which were neat and fairly deep. There were traces of dried blood on both of her arms, but the hand which Sherlock was currently holding was still bleeding a fair amount. Sherlock removed one hand from hers and placed it into his pocket, withdrawing a white handkerchief and wrapping it gently around her wrist. He felt Joan tense slightly as he did so, and he mumbled some apologies, drawing his attention briefly from her hand to her eyes.

"It... It's okay" she stammered eventually, causing Sherlock to raise his head at the sound of her shaky voice. "I'm okay" she stated in a slightly more confident manner, her eyes softening.

"You're not alright" he replied gently, removing his grip from her hand. She drew her hand closer to her, adjusting the handkerchief slightly, before allowing her arms to fall to her side.

"I... I am, really. The baby is okay too, see" she began, reaching out for his hand. Sherlock took her hand gladly, and she pulled it towards her stomach, before placing it palm-down upon the bottom of her abdomen. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly as he felt their baby kicking him with such strength and confidence which he or she had never before displayed. He then looked up to her face, and held her gaze, glad that her expression and demeanour seemed to be returning to normal. Sherlock and Joan were both lost in this moment, and found themselves almost oblivious to the presence of the dozens of other people in the room. They found themselves immersed completely in their own world, and basking in the happiness of Joan's return, their baby acting as an emotional anchor and focal point, drawing them back to their own reality. They remained like this for a few moments, until Captain Gregson approached the private scene cautiously, causing Joan to look up and Sherlock to turn to face him.

"Miss Watson, you need to go to the hospital, alright?" he stated tentatively, inclining his head slightly.

Joan's lips moved for a moment, before she inhaled deeply and offered him a small, weary smile." "I'm fine, Captain, really. I need your help, though, with... with this" she began, looking down at her bandaged wrist for a moment, fiddling with the material as she looked back towards Gregson. "The woman who took me is the daughter of Emily Lake, her name is Hayley. She was working with two men, Tommy and Jeremy. Tommy is the alpha, aggressive, dominant and cruel. Jeremy was subservient, kind, gently and obsessed with Hayley, and... and he saved me" she stated simply, turning to the side as she felt Sherlock's gaze fix upon her face. She spoke to him directly, her eyes not leaving his face. "He set me free at the first opportunity he had. He cut me loose, and I was able to hot-wire Hayley's car, and... and I..." Joan trailed off, dropping her gaze from Sherlock's face and focusing on the floor. Her mind was racing, and she was feeling confused and frightened once more. She was thinking of the events of the last couple of hours, and felt herself breathing heavier and feeling slightly light-headed. She faltered slightly, and felt herself overcome with the same dizziness which she was familiar with in the earlier stages of her pregnancy, and which she had not experienced since. Sherlock and Gregson acted immediately, the former stepping forward and holding on to Joan's waist, drawing her towards him, as Gregson dragged a chair from a nearby desk to Joan's side. Sherlock eased her slowly into the chair, lowering himself down too, until he was kneeling in front of her, and looking up at her in concern. Gregson crouched by her side, and looked anxiously from her to Sherlock.

"Watson, we need to take you to the hospital, alright?" Sherlock began, reaching his hand towards hers, and clasping it gently. "It's okay, I will be right with you. It's okay." He repeated, tilting his head to meet her gaze. Joan sighed, raising her bandaged hand to her forehead and leaning into it, before running her other hand through her hair, and facing Sherlock directly. She pursed her lips together, nodding at Sherlock with certainly, before turning to Gregson with a familiar expression of conviction on her face.

"Captain, Jeremy needs your help. He's not a bad kid, he just got into something which he... that he wasn't prepared for, that he didn't understand. When the others find out what he's done, which will be soon, he won't be safe" she paused for a moment, her eyes glistening. "You need to get to him first, Captain. He should still be at the... the ranger's station. It's-"

"We know, Miss Watson, we know. That station was the second potential location on our list." Gregson rose immediately, turning around and ordering three or four standing officers to head directly to the location and locate 'Jeremy'. As they made their way towards the door, Joan called to them, offering them a brief description of her kidnapper-turned-rescuer, before turning back towards Sherlock, who continued to kneel in front of her, staring at her with wide and wondrous eyes.

"I'm okay, really. I'm just tired, and I-"

"You're exhausted, injured, and traumatised" Sherlock stated gently, squeezing her hand reassuringly as he felt her tense slightly. "You are also nine months pregnant, and this undue stress is clearly affecting you. The baby is strong, just like you. But no one is infallible. Your dizziness, your confusion, and your exhaustion, are all signs telling you that you need medical attention. As a former doctor, I'm sure you understand the importance of heeding such warnings."

Joan swallowed, nodding once more, before placing her hands on either side of the chair and attempting to rise from it. Sherlock stood up immediately, holding her by the elbows as she rose, before moving his left arm up her own arm and resting his hand upon her shoulder, drawing her gently towards him. She leaned towards him, resting her head on his chest, and listening to the beating of his heart, which reassured and comforted her beyond measure. The last time she lay on him like this was when they kissed in the baby's nursery, and she found herself immersed in that memory, with the calmness and happiness the remembrance caused her eclipsing her current fear and pain. Sherlock wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and led her slowly from the precinct, with Captain Gregson following behind. Sherlock leaned closer into Sherlock, and he held her tighter in response, and felt as she instantly relaxed from beneath his grasp. As they reached the door, Captain Gregson walked past them opening the door and holding it open for them. Joan mumbled some words of thanks, and Sherlock nodded towards him, before following him to his car.

"I wanna drive you guys personally" Gregson explained, unlocking his car as the couple approached it. Sherlock opened the back door and eased Joan inside, crouching down once more by her side as she adjusted herself in her seat and clicked her seatbelt into place. She then turned to Sherlock, and offered him a weak yet warm smile, which he returned. Sherlock slowly rose, and turned as he was about to close the door and walk to the other side of the car. Instead, he froze, lingering for just a moment, causing Joan to glance curiously towards him. Without warning, Sherlock crouched down once more, and leaned in to the car, his face just inches from Joan's. She felt her heart beat faster and her breathing increase, as Sherlock slowly leaned towards her and kissed her gently on the cheek. His lips lingered on her skin for a moment, and she closed her eyes, sighing in complete contentment. By the time she opened her eyes, Sherlock had closed the door and walked around the car, and was already clicking his own seatbelt into place. Joan glanced towards him, before facing forward and watching as Gregson adjusted his mirror, the gleam in his eyes revealing what he had just witnessed. Joan smiled slightly, before leaning back into the seat, holding her sore hands in her lap.

They arrived at the hospital about ten minutes later, in which time Joan had drifted in and out of sleep. This had worried Sherlock slightly, who found himself watching her with concern and fear for the entirety of their journey. As the car pulled in to the hospital car park, Joan's eyes flicked open, and she found herself leaning against the seat and facing her window. She recognised the hospital immediately, and turned around to release herself from her seatbelt. After she did so, she ran her fingers through her hair and leaned back into her seat, before turning tiredly towards the window and placing her hand on the door handle. Before she could open it, the saw the tall and broad figure of Sherlock Holmes stand before her, opening the door from the outside, before offering her his hand. She smiled tiredly, placing her un-bandaged hand in his own, and allowing him to help her from her seat. Even at this late stage of her pregnancy, Joan had not found her mobility hindered to any great degree, but today was different. Today she was exhausted, aching and feeling quite confused and unsettled. She just wanted to go back to the brownstone, curl up on the sofa by the burning fire, and fall asleep as Sherlock read in his armchair. _Soon_ she told herself _you will be home soon_. Joan took in a deep breath of the winter air, and found herself staring up towards the sky, which was darker than she remembered. For a moment, she questioned how long she had been asleep for, before glancing down at her watch and confirming that it was only eight o'clock at night. Joan found the night air beneficial in many ways. It was cooling her skin, waking her tired eyes, and making her feel generally more alert and awake. She stood for a few moments by the car, her attention focused on the building. She had not been nervous before, but there was something about standing by the hospital, and knowing she was about to enter, that filled her with apprehension, and even dread.

Sherlock seemed to sense her fear, and closed the door quietly behind her, before moving in front of her and gently taking her un-bandaged hand in his own, which drew her attention away from the hospital and towards his bright, wide eyes. He was surveying her with curiosity, and was happy to find that, aside from appearing tired, Joan seemed to be much more alert and aware of her surroundings. He suspected that she had been feeling confused and overwhelmed at the station, which was understandable given the circumstances, as well as her audience. But now that they were in the almost deserted car park, surrounded by nothing but air and starlight, she appeared to be much more content.

"Are you ready, Watson?" he asked, running his index finger gently down the inside of her middle finger. She smiled at the contact, inhaling deeply.

"Yes." She stated with conviction, her alert gaze not dropping from his own.

"Right, I'm gonna head back, help the guys to find our kidnappers. Are you both gonna be okay?" Gregson asked, walking towards Sherlock and Joan. Despite the fact that they were holding hands, and staring at each other with adoring expressions, neither Sherlock nor Joan attempted to hide their actions. And why should they?

"Yes, Captain, quite" Sherlock responded, his eyes not leaving Joan's. Sherlock tilted his head slightly, turning to face the Captain, before meeting the older man's gaze. "Thank you."

"You got it" he replied. "If you need taking home afterwards, you call me, got it? Anytime."

"Thank you, Captain, for everything. But we will get a cab, as you're going to be busy tonight." Joan stated simply, the corners of her mouth dropping slightly with her last words. Until now, she had not really considered the fact that two of the people who kidnapped her were still at large, and that at least one of them had a very real and very dangerous obsession with her.

"Alright, but I want you to know, I've called two officers to come here immediately, and will send another six to your house. They will search it whilst you're here, making sure everything's okay, and will remain for the night." Sherlock turned to protest, but was prevented from doing do by Joan, who squeezed his hand tightly and pulled him slightly towards her. Sherlock turned, looking down at their hands before staring at her face. Joan was not looking at him, instead, her attention was focused entirely on Captain Gregson.

"Thank you, Captain" she nodded, offering him a weak smile. "Is... Is Alfredo alright?" she mentioned absent mindedly, glancing eagerly from Gregson to Sherlock.

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine. He's here, actually" began the Captain, his eyes drifting to the bright lights of the hospital. "He has a mild concussion and required a couple of stitches, but will be fine. He's been asking about you a lot, Miss Watson" he continued, looking towards Joan. "A couple of my guys had to physically prevent him from leaving the building. He was adamant that he was gonna leave and help us look for you, despite the warnings of the doctors. He feels very... responsible, for what happened."

"He's not." Joan stated simply, shaking her head. "And I will make sure he knows that." Gregson nodded, wished them both a good night, and got back into his car. Sherlock and Joan remained where they were for a few moments, watching as Gregson's car disappeared into the darkness.

"Watson" Sherlock stated gently, watching Joan's face as she continued to stare at the spot which had occupied Gregson's car. "Watson" he repeated, gently drawing her hand closer to him, which pulled her from her thoughts. She turned, looking up towards him as she mumbled an apology.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"You have nothing to apologise for, Watson" Sherlock stated immediately and with conviction. His eyes softened as she met his gaze, before she slowly moved closer to him.

"Shall we go inside, then?" She asked, her gaze leaving Sherlock's face and fixing itself upon the hospital.

"Are you ready?" he asked gently, watching as her chest rose as she inhaled deeply.

"I am now."

Sherlock and Joan walked towards the entrance of the hospital, their hands entwined. As they approached the automatic doors, which slid open in greeting, Joan froze, and loosened her grip on Sherlock's hand. The building, the doors, the darkness, all reminded her of that night all those months ago, when she found herself stumbling into the hospital in the middle of the night, fearful that she was losing her baby. Although she felt generally well, and her baby was continuing to gently kick, a feeling of fear overwhelmed her, and almost took her breath away. As a former doctor, she was aware of the impact of stress on the mother and baby during pregnancy, certainly during the later stages. Suddenly, Joan felt herself feeling more afraid than she had been until this very moment. She removed her hand completely from Sherlock's, and took a few steps back, her eyes not leaving the automatic doors, which remained open.

"I can't" she breathed, as her heart began to beat with an incredible intensity. "I can't go in there, I... I can't do this, I..."

"Watson" Sherlock stated with confidence, moving towards her, standing between her and the doors. "Watson, Watson look at me, it's alright. Watson." Joan closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as she allowed her gaze to leave the doors and focus on Sherlock, who was watching her with a mixture of confusion and concern. "Talk to me, Watson. What is it that you cannot do?" He was speaking as kindly and gently as he had been when he was comforting her after the incident in Ms Lake's office. She was grateful for this, but still struggled to explain her feelings and her concerns to him. But she knew that she had to.

"What if something's wrong?" she breathed, her body shaking slightly, due to a combination of fear and coldness.

Sherlock took a step closer towards her, and placed his hands upon her shoulders, as he felt her whole body shake. He removed his coat immediately, draping it across her, before placing his hands back in their original position on her shoulders. Even beneath the thick, dark coat, he could tell that she was still shaking.

"We are here to ensure that nothing is wrong, Watson. You have some minor lacerations on your wrists, and a small contusion on your head, but-"

"I didn't mean wrong with me" she stated tearfully, her gaze falling from his. "I meant... I-"

"The baby" Sherlock stated, causing Joan to close her eyes for a moment and nod in response, before opening them once more and breathing a few ragged breaths. "From the strength of the baby's kicks, he or she seems to be alright, Watson. Strong, just like you." He paused for a moment, observing Joan, who seemed to be calming herself slightly. Sherlock removed his right hand from her shoulder, and slowly lowered it until he reached her stomach. He looked up to her, as if seeking her approval, which he was given, with a small nod of her head. He placed his hand gently upon her abdomen, running his other hand down her arm comfortingly. Within moments, they both felt the strong and powerful kicks of their child, which were aimed directly at the place where Sherlock's hand was resting. Joan's eyes widened, and she smiled slightly, before clasping her hand over her mouth. Sherlock removed his hand from her abdomen and watched her with interest, waiting for her to speak.

"I'm sorry" she stated simply, shaking her head before removing her hand from her mouth. "I don't know why I keep-"

"You've been through an ordeal, Watson. You're injured, you're tired, and you're afraid. And, as I said earlier, you have absolutely nothing to apologise for" he paused, allowing her a few seconds to continue her steady breathing, until he was certain that she was feeling calmer and more in control. "Do you feel able to go inside?" he asked tentatively. Joan nodded immediately, inhaling deeply, before walking briskly towards the doors, passing through the reception area and towards the reception desk. Sherlock was at her side immediately, and wrapped his arm across her back, resting his hand lightly on her hip. Joan opened her mouth to speak, and found herself armed with the confidence and support she required to continue with this task. Her baby was kicking strongly and reassuringly, and Sherlock was standing by her side. She felt as close to invincible as she had ever felt before.

After explaining the reason behind her visit, Joan was led through to a small, private room, where Sherlock also accompanied her. The nurse who took her in bandaged her sore wrists before calling for a doctor, who came down just as she was bandaging her second wrist. Joan thanked her warmly and sincerely, before drawing her attention to the doctor.

"Miss Watson, isn't it?" he began, consulting his chart, before smiling pleasantly at her. "I'm Dr Reynolds. I understand you've had quite a stressful day?" Joan nodded, briefly explaining the events of the day, and informing him of her dizzy spell, and the ones which she experienced earlier in her pregnancy.

"But the baby has been kicking constantly, which is wonderful, but-" Joan broke off, her mouth becoming suddenly dry. She waited for a few moments before continuing to speak. "I just... I need to be sure-"

"Of course" the doctor stated, wishing to spare her the pain and discomfort of continuing her statement. "We'll perform an ultrasound immediately, and see what's going on, alright?" Joan nodded gratefully, thanking the doctor. Sherlock nodded at Dr Reynolds, before entwining his and Joan's hands, and leading her from the chair towards the bed. Joan made herself comfortable, and slowly raised her blouse, as the doctor performed the ultrasound.

"Miss Watson, your baby is completely fine. Very active, very active indeed" he smiled, glancing from the monitor to Joan, who was staring at it, before leaning back and sighing in relief. "Strong heartbeat, nice size... yes, yes the child appears to be perfectly healthy. No concerns."

"Thank you" Joan breathed, as she felt herself instantly relaxing. She looked towards Sherlock, whose hand felt slightly weaker in her own. He was staring at the monitor, his eyes wide and analytical, as he watched the movements of their child. He turned suddenly, looking down at Joan, before tightening his grip once more.

"I apologise, Watson, I was just-"

"I know" she began, offering him another tired smile. "And you, Sherlock, have nothing to apologise for either." They stared at each other for a few moments, basking in their contentment, before being broken from their thoughts by the doctor's voice.

"Miss Watson, the baby is absolutely fine, but I do have some concerns about you."

Sherlock's attention was immediately fixed upon the doctor, and Joan slowly looked from him to the doctor, who was moving towards her from the bottom of the bed.

"Your blood pressure has been fairly low on several occasions, as it is this evening. This is not surprising given your ordeal, and I'm guessing you haven't eaten recently." He paused, watching as Joan shook her head in response. "That must be your first priority, alright? And then you must rest. Although your child is healthy and strong, you need to be too. I am recommending that you go home and rest, do absolutely nothing strenuous, and ensure that you keep hydrated. Eat as much as you feel able to, and sleep as much as you can. You need to be as strong and as rested as you can be. Do you understand."

"Yes" Joan responded, nodding as she pushed herself up from the bed.

"I'll make sure that she rests, doctor. I assure you" Sherlock stated, looking from Joan to the doctor. Joan recognised the expression on his face instantly, as well as the tone he was using. Both were consistent with those he expressed when Irene was in hospital, and he was listening to the prognosis of her doctor. "She will be well looked after".

"I have no doubt of that, sir." The doctor responded, turning off the ultrasound machine and passing Joan some tissues. "I'm sure you want to go home, and you will probably sleep better in your own bed. I am happy to discharge you, providing that you go straight home, eat, and go to straight to bed." Joan felt almost like a reprimanded teenager, but she understood what the doctor was saying, and agreed with him completely. She knew he was right, and she also know that she was willing to do anything necessary to protect her baby.

"Food and sleep sound great. And to be honest, I really don't think I am capable of achieving much else right now." She sighed slightly, as Sherlock helped to ease her off the bed. "Thank you, doctor." She stated, as Sherlock wrapped his coat across her shoulders once more, before stepping forwards and shaking the doctor's hand cordially. This surprised Joan slightly, but it did not surprise her. Not at all.

"Yes, thank you, doctor." Sherlock repeated, nodding towards him as he released his hand. The doctor smiled, repeating his instructions to Joan, before urging her to return if she experienced any symptoms, which she agreed to. He also stated that he would contact her obstetrician and schedule her in for an appointment within the next couple of days, which she thanked him for, before leaving with Sherlock.

Sherlock hailed a cab from the bay just outside the hospital, and held the door open for Joan as she slowly eased herself inside. The warmth of the cab contrasted the coldness of the night air, and Joan found herself feeling instantly relaxed and sleepy, and leaned into the soft cushioned seat. Her eyes flickered open as she felt Sherlock sit beside her. He gave their address to the driver, before drawing his phone from his pocket and beginning to dial. Sherlock was calling Joan's favourite late-night takeaway, and she found herself practically salivating as he ordered her favourite food. She closed her eyes, imagining the food laid out in front of her, and suddenly felt incredible hungry. She had not been aware of her hunger before, but now that she was assured that her baby was okay, she realised just how much she required food. As Sherlock hung up, Joan shifted in her seat slightly, mumbling some words of thanks and gratitude.

"Not at all" he stated gently. "I thought it would be something you'd feel able to eat."

Joan nodded in response, before closing her eyes slowly, but forcing herself to remain awake. Joan was feeling relaxed and completely at ease, and longing for the food which was on its way to the brownstone. She just hoped that she would be able to stay awake for long enough to enjoy it.

The cab pulled up outside the brownstone less than ten minutes later, and Joan instantly spotted a man wearing the familiar take-out uniform standing by the front of the building, talking to two of the officers who were guarding it. She had forgotten about them, and was grateful that they had no turned the man away. She was absolutely starving. Sherlock thanked the driver, and handed him some money before getting out of the cab and moving around to Joan's side, opening the door for her and offering her his hand. She took it, pulling herself from her seat and thanking the cab driver, as Sherlock closed the door gently behind her. They walked up the steps together, Sherlock hanging back slightly to allow her to walk ahead of him. As she reached the top of the stairs, she greeted the officers and the take-out delivery man pleasantly, before Sherlock handed the latter some money and apologised for the confusion. The confused and slightly suspicious delivery man accepted the money, including the generous tip, and quickly departed. Joan smiled, before laughing slightly for the first time that day, which filled Sherlock with a warmth and level of contentment which he found difficult to describe. He exchanged a few words with the officers, before opening the front door and allowing Joan to pass through, following her through with the food.

The brownstone was cool and quiet, and Joan instantly found herself feeling even more at ease than she had been. She shrugged off Sherlock's coat slowly, hanging it up, before turning to face him. He reached for a light switch, flicking it on as he turned towards Joan.

"I'll deal with the food, Watson, you should rest." He stated kindly, before walking past her and towards the kitchen. Joan nodded, raising her hand to her head and performing a mock salute, before walking slowly into the living area.

As soon as Joan entered the room, she became aware of the fact that something was missing. Within seconds her eyes were drawn to the small pieces of plaster which lay scattered across the floor, and which she quickly identified as the phrenology bust which often occupied a space by the fireplace.

"What happened to Angus?" she called through to the kitchen, as she began kicking some of the pieces together into a neat pile. There was no way she was leaning down and picking them up, she doubted whether she would be able to stand again afterwards. The sound of Sherlock's feet approaching her drew her attention from the ground, and she turned to find him holding two plates of food and cutlery. He entered the room with a sheepish and guilty expression on his place, before passing her a plate timidly, and looking at the pieces of plaster on the floor as she accepted her cutlery.

"I..." Sherlock paused, finding it difficult to find the right words to explain Angus's fate. "I must admit, Angus's current condition is... is not due to his being used as a weapon to foil a murder" he stated lightly, as Joan looked up at him with a curious expression. "He was the victim of my... frustration, earlier, when I received a call informing me that you... that you were..." Sherlock's voice dropped, and Joan looked down towards the ground, nodding in understanding.

"It's okay" she reassured him kindly. "You fixed him once, it can be done again." Sherlock looked towards her, nodding rapidly, whilst pushing his fork through his food and moving slowly towards the window, pulling a chair close to his armchair. "It'll be our first task of the morning, alright?" Sherlock looked up towards her and nodded, as she dragged a chair across the room and placed it opposite the armchair. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"There... there may be some... remnants of our late colleague on the couch. I think it would be best if we sat here, to avoid another late-night hospital trip." Sherlock nodded slightly, leaning back on his heels as he extended an arm, offering Joan the armchair.

"Me?" she asked wryly. "You are allowing me to sit in your armchair, Sherlock? I think you may be the one who requires a hospital visit."

"I'm glad to see that your sense of humour has not deserted you, Watson. Please, sit yourself down and enjoy your nutritious dinner."

Joan smiled slightly, moving her fork through her plate as she accepted his offer, leaning back into the armchair. "Well, I certainly see why you like it" she began, shifting her shoulders against the cool leather. Sherlock watched her with interest, before taking up his seat opposite her. Sherlock and Joan remained in their seats for a few minutes, in complete silence, enjoying the food and the company. Joan found that she was even more hungry than she realised, and devoured her dinner quickly, placing the plate on a small table by her side before leaning back and closing her eyes. She was aware of movement from in front of her, and heard the sound of Sherlock's plate and cutlery joining her own.

"I think we should take you to your room, Miss Watson." Sherlock stated, standing from his seat and offering her his hand. Joan opened her eyes, looking up to him and nodding slowly, before accepting his hand and pulling herself up. Sherlock placed one hand on her lower back and escorted her out of the room and towards the staircase, walking behind her up the stairs, and pausing as they reached her room. Joan opened the door slowly, leaning against the door frame. As soon as she placed her hand upon the door handle, Joan felt her tiredness completely overwhelm her, and she turned tiredly to face Sherlock, who was lingering a few paces away.

"Is there... Is there anything I can do for you, Watson?" he asked nervously, his fingers tapping nervously upon his thigh. Joan's tired eyes widened, and she turned to face him more directly.

"Would you... would you stay with me? For tonight?" she asked, her voice warm and kind, her eyes glistening with a mixture of apprehension and exhaustion.

Sherlock nodded rapidly, walking towards her as she straightened herself up against the door frame. He paused as they were just a couple of inches apart, staring into the depths of each others eyes. "Are you sure you wish me to stay, Watson? If you would like to have some time by yourself, that is completely understandable, you must be exhausted, and-"

"I always sleep better when you're with me" she stated simply, in a low tone. Sherlock looked into her eyes, and she struggled to maintain his gaze. She had no idea why she had just said something so bluntly. Her exhaustion was clearly so intense that it had completely eroded her verbal filters. She opened her mouth to speak, but found herself unable to form a coherent sentence. She wished she had faced the same problem a few moments before. "Sherlock... I am... I don't-"

"It's alright, Watson" Sherlock said in a kind and confident tone. She looked up at him. He did not appear to feel awkward or embarrassed by her confession, nor did he seem averse to her invitation. "In truth, I find that my sleeping also improves when... when I am by your side." Joan nodded, smiling warmly. Being open with him was not as difficult as she had once believed, and it was true that it helped them both.

"Then let's get some sleep. We deserve it." She stated simply, reaching her hand out towards his, and clasping their fingers together. Sherlock followed her into the room, and they undressed in the dark, before walking towards her bed. Joan eased herself slowly onto the mattress, and slipped gently under the covers. She could feel Sherlock wrapping her favourite white blanket across her, and she sank into the depths of her warm and comforting pillows. By the time Sherlock had got under her covers too, she was already asleep. Sherlock moved gently and cautiously towards her, and rested his head just a few inches from her own, before watching her for a few moments. Her expression was one of calmness, serenity and peace, and he was glad of it. He slowly and tentatively placed one arm above the duvet, and draped it across her waist. Despite being asleep, Joan sighed in a satisfied manner, and leaned closer towards him, until her forehead was resting upon his chin. Sherlock gently tilted his head back, pressing his lips carefully to her forehead, and closing his eyes.


	28. Chapter 27

*A/N: Hey everyone! Thank you for continuing to support this story, it means a lot. Again, I'm sorry that I haven't been updating as regularly as before, due to work commitments. I will try to update every 48hours at the latest, although this story is almost over :)

If there are any issues please let me know. I hope you enjoy the story!

\- HQ21

Sherlock fell asleep almost immediately, finding himself completely comforted and at peace by the sound of Joan's gentle breathing, and the feeling of her body pressed against his own. The evening was cold and the weather deteriorated during the night, but Sherlock and Joan remained oblivious to the hail and the lightening, and spent most of the night in a peaceful a dreamless sleep. Shortly after six o'clock in the morning, Sherlock began to stir. He sighed deeply before opening his eyes, and watching Joan as she slept. She was lying on her back, her head tilted slightly to face him, with one arm next to her face and the other wrapped protectively across her abdomen. Sherlock watched her chest gently rise and fall, before placing his own hand over hers on her stomach, allowing it to move in time with her breathing. She felt warm and comforting, and he remained like this for over an hour, leaning into the pillow as he watched her rest. He was almost asleep once more, when the sound of his phone ringing broke him from his partial slumber. The phone was ringing loudly and persistently, and Sherlock quickly removed his hand from Joan's and eased himself out of the bed, searching for his trousers, which were slightly muffling the sound of the phone. As he crept across the room and towards his trousers, slowly drawing the phone out of his pocket, he rose once more and looked towards Joan, who was beginning to stir slightly. He inwardly seethed, frustrated that someone had compromised Joan's rest, before criticising himself for not thinking of turning off his phone. He glanced down at the caller ID and sighed, before answering the call and lifting the phone to his right ear.

"Yes, Captain, what is it?" he asked in a tired whisper, his eyes not leaving Joan's body. She tilted her head from one side to the other, before spreading out her fingers across her abdomen, and running her hand down it slowly. She then reached her free arm over to Sherlock's side of the bed and, upon noticing that he was not there, opened her eyes instantly. It took her a few moments to locate him, and when she did, she looked up at him curiously, before pulling herself into a sitting position, and propping up the cushions behind her.

"Sherlock?" she asked tiredly, before she realised that he was on the phone. He smiled towards her, before tilting his head so she could see the phone, and mouthing the word 'Gregson'. Her lips parted slightly and she nodded in understanding, before slightly adjusting her position on the bed, and looking back towards him.

"Well yes, Captain, she is now" he responded in an irritated manner. Joan glanced at him reproachfully, causing him to blush slightly, before exhaling deeply. "No, no absolutely not. No, that's not-" Sherlock was pulling on his trousers as she spoke into the phone, doing up his belt with one hand as he sighed in annoyance at the Captain's words.

"Sherlock, what is it?" Joan asked, sounding much more alert than she had done previously. Sherlock cast a thoughtful and concerned look at her, before making his way over to the bed and sitting on the edge. He then held the phone from his ear and put it on loudspeaker, so that joan could also take part in the conversation.

"Captain Gregson, you are now on loudspeaker" he began, before looking from the phone and towards Joan, who was pulling her white blanket closer to her chest. "The Captain has apprehended the three people responsible for... for your ordeal" Sherlock continued cautiously. "He has asked me to go to the precinct and assist in the interview of Hayley Reynolds, which I have refused" he watched Joan carefully, as her expression quickly changed from one of understanding to confusion. "I am not leaving you, Watson. Not now." Joan was about to speak, when the sound of Gregson's voice rose from the phone.

"I get that, Sherlock, I totally get it. But Hayley is smart. She's manipulative, she's cruel, and she is highly intelligent. Getting a confession, or any other form of evidence from her, is gonna be a challenge. But if you were there, it is much more likely. She has something against you, against your partner. She won't be able to stop herself from boasting, telling you of what she's done, marvelling at how smart she's been. It will be her downfall, Sherlock. And the sooner we get what we need, the faster this is over for you both." Gregson paused, and Sherlock pursed his lips together and shifted in agitation. He knew that the Captain was right, and he completely agreed with his logic. But the thought of leaving Joan for even a couple of hours terrified him, and filled him with feelings of fear and apprehension which almost physically pained him.

"I understand that, Captain, but I-"

"It's alright" interrupted Joan, her voice even and gentle. "I'll be fine. Gregson's right, you should go. I'm gonna stay in all day, I'll be reachable by phone. I'll be fine, Sherlock, really."

"Watson, no, I am not... I will not leave you. You need rest and you need support, and after what happened yesterday, I can't-"

"Yes, you can" she continued gently, meeting his concerned gaze with warm and comforting eyes. "Gregson is right, he needs your help, and the faster you guys get what you need, the faster this is all over. And then we can really rest, and focus on everything else. The baby will be here soon, and there is so much left to do. The sooner this is out of the way, the sooner we get to move forward. I don't want to shadow of this event hanging over us indefinitely. Do you understand?" She spoke kindly and with great care, causing Sherlock's heart to race and his thoughts to become muddled and confused.

"I tell you what" began Gregson's voice, "Alfredo was discharged earlier today, why don't you give him a call and ask him to come and stay with Miss Watson whilst you assist me?" Sherlock appeared to be considering the idea, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at the phone. "He holds himself responsible for yesterday's events, so spending some time with you, Miss Watson, in a capacity involving trust and care, would help him greatly. And I'm sure it would reassure you both. Two birds, eh?"

Joan looked at Sherlock imploringly, nodding slowly and offering him a small smile or reassurance. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and returned her nodded, before sighing deeply and speaking once more to Captain Gregson. "Very well, Captain. But if he is unavailable, or if Watson needs something, I shall remain with her, understand?"

"Yes, yes of course, Sherlock. I get it. I want you to be okay, Miss Watson, I want you to be protected. And I would never do anything to compromise that, I hope you both know that."

"Yes, Captain, thank you." Joan stated warmly, looking from the phone to Sherlock.

"I will call Alfredo immediately and, depending on his availability, will be with you as soon as I am able. Goodbye Captain" Sherlock stated, hanging up before Gregson has a chance to respond.

Sherlock and Joan sat in silence for a few moments, with Sherlock staring at the dark screen of his phone, and Joan watching him with anticipation. She knew that he was thinking the phone call over, considering all possibilities, and working out the next course of action. She waited patiently for him to speak, and she did not wait for long.

"Watson, I... I feel very unhappy about leaving you." He stated simply, looking up from his phone to her eyes. She nodded in understanding, before gazing at him warmly.

"I will be fine. If Alfredo can make it, that's wonderful, he will be able to keep me company. If not, then that is also fine. I am going to stay in the house, relax, sleep, and I will only be a phone call away. You can call or text me whenever you feel anxious, or-"

"I am not leaving you unattended Watson. Absolutely not. Now now, not... Not after I..." he trailed off, breaking her gaze and staring back down at his phone, before tapping his fingers nervously on his thigh and shifting uncomfortably in his position on the bed. "The last time I left you to assist the police, you were taken. You were hurt and you were frightened" his eyes drifted towards her face once more, and he spoke with certainty and conviction. "I will not allow that to happen again."

"What happened was not your fault. I was not... it didn't happen because you left, but because I did." Sherlock shook his head, and attempted to speak, but Joan continued to talk in a calm and even tone. "I'm not saying it was my fault, it wasn't. What happened was not my fault at all, but it most certainly wasn't yours. It was the fault and responsibility of the people who took me. The people who, now in custody, need to be interviewed. You can help the police, Sherlock. And I know you want to help me, to help the baby. Assisting the police is a way of achieving that. I will be okay. Alright?"

Sherlock looked up at her uncertainly, after having listened to her words carefully and with consideration. He nodded slowly, before picking up his phone and beginning to dial.

"Alfredo?" he asked after the first ring. "It's Sherlock. Yes, yes, no- no, she's fine, I assure you. Yes." Sherlock was silent for a moment, and his eyes rose to the ceiling as Alfredo spoke, before glancing down and nodding. "It was... you don't need to apologise Alfredo, I assure you. You did not fail Miss Watson, you helped to ensure that we were made aware of the situation as quickly as possible, which helped to prepare us to save her. Not that she needed it, though" he added lightly, glancing towards Joan, who smiled. "I am calling, Alfredo, to request that you resume your previous duties. I need to assist the police this morning, and was wondering whether it would be possible for you to remain at the brownstone with Miss Watson for a few hours, in order to-" he broke off, closing his eyes and nodding rapidly. "Yes, yes, of course. No, I'm sure. Yes. Yes, great. Thank you. Yes, we will see you within the hour." He then hung up, dropping the phone onto the bed and glancing towards Joan. "Alfredo is on his way, and will be here presently." Joan nodded, before staring directly at Sherlock and posing a question which he had not expected.

"What exactly did you mean by 'resume your previous duties'?" she asked, her voice calm but slightly weary. "What duties?"

Sherlock swallowed, staring directly at Joan, and not allowing himself to break her gaze. She deserved an explanation, and he would give it to her. "After... after the police did not wish to... prioritise the note and the call, I... I called Alfredo" he began, pausing for a moment as Joan nodded, and continued to look at him with confusion. "I asked that he remain close to you, just until this was dealt with, to ensure that you were... never truly alone." He paused once more, and began to watch her for a reaction. Joan inhaled deeply, leaning back slightly into the pillows, and opening her mouth slightly, parting her lips before closing her mouth once more. "I did not wish to... to seem obsessive or overprotective, Watson, and I apologise for not having informed you of this sooner. I just... I wanted to make sure that you were safe."

"How long has this been going on for?" She asked simply, her voice containing no traces of anger or disappointment. Instead, she sounded weary and concerned.

"About three weeks." Sherlock replied instantly, maintaining his focus upon her. Joan nodded slowly, turning to the side and sighing, before looking back at him directly.

"I... I understand, Sherlock. Really, I do. But you should have told me, talked to me. We could have-"

"I didn't want to worry you. I just-" Sherlock eased himself off the bed and began to pace, tapping his fingers upon his thigh nervously as he walked. "I wanted you to be safe, I wanted... I wanted you to be protected, always. Just... just until this was all over-"

"I get it, Sherlock. But you should have told me" she began slowly, her voice calm and gentle. "You don't need to... to protect me, to save me. I am capable of both of those things. I don't want you to feel obligated or bound to me. I just... all I want is-"

"What?" Sherlock asked in a low, quiet tone. "What is it you want, Watson?"

Joan looked up at him with wide, warm eyes, and she inhaled slowly before replying. "You."

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, his eyes widening, and his heart beating faster than he had ever felt it. Their relationship had always been confusing, the boundaries blurred and often unclear. Over the past few months, those boundaries had been erased, redrawn, and then completely obliterated. They had been intimate and passionate, and had emotionally confirmed their romantic connection, without referring to it using words. This was the first time it had been addressed directly, and the reality of the situation, and the conviction of Joan's words, both surprised and gratified him in equal measure. He moved slowly towards her, sitting on the bed once more, as she eased herself nearer to him. They stared at each other for a few moments, before he placed a hand on her cheek, stroking her hair from her face gently, before guiding her towards him. They closed their eyes at the same moment, before both leaning into the other, and kissing passionately. It was not like the kiss in the nursery, which started of tentatively and with caution, before they both visually confirmed their mutual consent to the other. Instead, this kiss was passionate, intense and completely beautiful. Joan leaned closer to Sherlock, who pulled her gently to him, as she rose her hand to his face and ran it slowly down his face and neck, allowing it to rest on his heart. Neither of them knew how long the kiss lasted, nor did it seem to matter. It would have continued for much longer, perhaps for a seemingly infinite period of time, had it not been for the interruption of the doorbell.

Joan slowly and regretfully pulled herself from the kiss, whispering to Sherlock as she attempted the keep her breathing even. "It... it will be Alfredo" she breathed raggedly, as Sherlock drew her once more towards him, before kissing her gently upon the lips and cheek, and holding his hand on her cheek for a few seconds as he gazed into her eyes. Without a word, he quickly moved from her side, walking from the room and closing the door behind him. Joan could hear the sound of his footsteps rushing down the stairs, as she placed her fingertips to her lips, and smiled to herself.

Sherlock reached the bottom of the stairs and opened the door immediately, finding himself face to face with a nervous and guilt-ridden Alfredo. Sherlock considered him for a moment and, instead of holding the door open for him, moved towards him slowly. Alfredo inhaled deeply, as if apprehending some kind of negative or threatening action. Instead, Sherlock extended his arm, offering Alfredo his hand. Alfredo was confused, and looked from Sherlock's face to his hand, and back to his face. Sherlock seemed completely calm and sincere, and was watching Alfredo with a mixture of concern and gratitude. Alfredo accepted his hand, shaking it warmly, before mumbling some apologies.

"You helped her, Alfredo. Truly. You have protected her for these last few weeks, and you protected her yesterday as well. And I cannot thank you enough for that." Sherlock spoke in a kind and sincere tone, which he meant. He just hoped that Alfredo understood and accepted his words. "If I doubted you ability to help her, to ensure her safety, I assure you, I would not have invited you back here today. I have no doubt of your abilities, or your feelings for Watson. And your desire to keep her safe. Her, and the baby." Alfredo nodded immediately, and thanked Sherlock for his words. Sherlock nodded in response, before moving aside and holding the door open for his guest, closing it firmly behind him. As Sherlock turned around, he found himself face to face with Joan, who was fully dressed and standing at the bottom of the stairs, smiling warmly at Alfredo.

"Hey, Alfredo. How are you? How's your head?" She asked pleasantly, concern clear in her voice. As she spoke, she moved closer to him, and reached her hand up to his head, pressing her fingers lightly near his bandage.

"I'm fine, Miss Watson" he stated immediately. "How about you? Are you okay?"

"Always, Alfredo" she replied immediately. "Thank you, for everything. For yesterday and for today" she stated, watching him with a warm and kindly expression. He seemed embarrassed by her words, and almost uncertain of how to respond.

"It's the least I could do." He stated simply, shrugging his shoulders as he removed his coat. "So, is there anything I can do for you guys? Whilst I'm here, I mean?"

"Your company is more than enough, Alfredo, thank you" began Joan, stepping back from him slightly. "I'm grateful you were able to come, especially at such short notice."

"It's really not a problem, Miss Watson. I'm glad that you guys asked me." Joan smiled at him, nodding briefly, before glancing over to Sherlock, who was standing slightly behind Alfredo, and was leaning back slightly on his heels. He clearly had reservations about leaving her, which she hoped to be able to dispel.

Joan walked past Alfredo and towards Sherlock, stopping when she was just a step in front of him, and looking up into his eyes as she spoke. "We will be fine, Sherlock, alright? Everything will be fine. We will call you if there are any problems." He sighed deeply, staring at the floor before looking back to her face. "Alright?"

"Yes." He responded quietly, before turning towards Alfredo. "You'll call me, if anything comes up? Anything at all?"

"You got it, Holmes." He replied, turning to face him. Sherlock nodded, and turned slightly on the spot, before moving back to face Joan. He leaned down slowly, and planted a chaste kiss upon her cheek, which she returned.

"I'll see you in a few hours, okay?" She asked gently, which he nodded to. Alfredo watched this scene curiously, staring at Sherlock as he grabbed a coat from the rail and walked quickly from the building, as if afraid that Joan would disappear if he were to look back. Joan watched as he closed the door slowly behind him, before turning to Alfredo, and smiling at him warmly.

"Tea, Alfredo?" She asked, moving towards the kitchen.

"I'll make some, Miss Watson. You sit yourself down in there" he stated, indicating to the living area. She looked up at him with curious and questioning eyes, before he continued to speak. "i know where everything is. Please." She sighed, nodding slowly, before walking into the living area as Alfredo moved towards the kitchen. She could hear him moving around in the kitchen, opening various cupboards and drawers, as she herself walked through the living area. She was about to sit on the couch, when she glanced down and noticed a small pile of white porcelain. It took her a few moments before she realised what it was, recognising it as the remains of Angus, who had fallen a victim to Sherlock's recent anger and frustration. She sighed, thinking over how distressed Sherlock must have been, as she slowly and gently bent down and began to collect the pieces.

"Hey! Hey, Miss Watson, what are you doing?" came a voice from behind her, followed by quick footsteps. "Here, let me help you-"

"I'm fine, Alfredo" she sighed, picking up the pieces and pushing herself up slowly from the ground. "I can manage, really. You don't need to worry. Unlike Angus here, I'm not so easy to break." She smiled slightly at the end of her sentence, slightly impressed by her own wit, and walked past Alfredo and towards the table in the kitchen, depositing the pieces in the centre of the table. She then walked back towards Alfredo in the living area, where they searched for and gathered the remaining pieces together. It took them almost ten minutes, and a further five to locate the super glue. As Joan took the remainder of these items to the table, Alfredo made his way over to the stove, preparing some sweet tea for Joan, which he placed gently in front of her. Joan spent the next couple of hours bent over the table, working on fixing the shattered bust, and restore it to its former state. Poor Angus had been through a lot in the last couple of years. It seemed slightly sad that he had been launches against a wall, especially considering the central role he played in saving the life of a former associate of Sherlock's. Joan smiled as she mused, and continued to slowly and delicately recreate the porcelain bust.

By midday, most of Angus had been restored, but there was a gap on his forehead, and near his left shoulder. Joan and Alfredo searched for these missing pieces for almost an hour, recovering just a few smaller pieces, which they incorporated into the bust. During the hours spent fixing Angus, Joan and Alfredo had talked about a breadth of subjects. They began with discussing the events of the previous day, with Joan paying particular attention to Alfredo's feelings and concerns, before reassuring that he was in no way responsible for her kidnapping and subsequent injuries, and that she was very grateful for his attempts at rescuing her. She also thanked him for his work over the last few weeks, his attempts at protecting her. He seemed surprised that she was aware of this, but nodded politely in response, and was grateful for her thanks. To be honest, he was just relieved that she was not angry at him for invading her privacy. After Joan had reassured Alfredo that she was not angry or disappointed in him, and that she valued him dearly, he relaxed markedly. They spent the next couple of hours laughing and talking, about Sherlock, the baby, the brownstone, the Yankees, and various other topics. They were having such a wonderful time at the table that they did not register Sherlock's return until he stepped into the kitchen, and watched them with a puzzled expression as they laughed.

"What's going on?" He asked, looking from Alfredo to Joan, who turned her chair around to face him.

"Sherlock, you're back. It's only... oh, wow, half four" she stated, referring to her watch. "How did it go?"

"Fine. Well, actually. We have secured confessions from all members, and Jeremy brokered a deal with the DA in return for rolling on the other two. He seemed... extremely remorseful, and sincerely apologetic." Sherlock stated simply, undoing his scarf as he moved towards the table. Joan nodded, shifting in her seat before speaking.

"Yes, I think he-" Joan broke off, and her eyes widened. As she was speaking, she felt an odd sensation in her stomach, and moved her hand slightly so that she was rubbing her abdomen gently, before exhaling. Sherlock noticed this movement, and walked quickly towards her.

"Watson? Are you alright?" He asked, concern clear in his voice. Alfredo, who had been oblivious to Joan's actions, moved his seat backward and attempted to stand, before the sound of her voice drew him back into his seat.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine" she smiled, slightly breathlessly, as she removed her hand from her abdomen. "I guess that baby just moved awkwardly, that's all." She sounded certain, but was not. She was not concerned about the sensation which she felt, which could be best described as a tightening pain, followed by a dull ache. She had been sitting in the chair for hours, and was certain that it was a combination of her immobility, as well as the restlessness of the baby. As if on cue, her child began to kick with conviction, causing her to smile up towards Sherlock. "The baby's been really active today." She smiled up at Sherlock, subconsciously placing her hand back on her abdomen. Sherlock seemed content with this answer, and nodded in her direction, before fixing his gaze on her stomach. "You can't see through my abdomen, Sherlock. Although my abdomen won't exist if this baby gets any bigger." Joan shifted slightly in her seat, sighing slightly as she did so. She was feeling rather warm and uncomfortable, and her back was beginning to ache. She was certain it was due to her position in the seat, and the fact she hadn't moved in a while. The baby's strong kicks told her that he or she was perfectly fine, and she knew that the symptoms she was experiencing were perfectly normal. Joan was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of Sherlock's voice.

"You fixed Angus?" He asked perplexedly, moving towards the almost complete bust which was standing prominently on the table.

"Yes, it has been our project for the day" she stated, turning to face the table. "There are a couple of small pieces which we haven't found yet, but we will. In time. Soon." Sherlock nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. He was clearly ashamed of his anger, which he always tried to shield Joan from. The fact that she had, quite literally, just cleaned up one of his anger-related messes, especially after the trauma of the previous day, filled him with guilt. "It was great, actually. It gave us the opportunity to talk."

Sherlock nodded, grateful for her attempts to reassure him. "And did you rest, Watson?" he asked gently, looking from Angus to Joan.

"We were pretty well rested and relaxed, I'd say. We've barely left the table."

Sherlock nodded, running his finger tips lightly over Angus's face. "Sorry, old friend."

"Well, I'd best be off, then." Alfredo stated, sensing that Sherlock and Joan would probably wish to be alone.

"Are you sure?" Asked Joan, her attention fixing itself to his face. "Okay then, well, thank you. It was really kind of you to come over. I had a great time, I hope you did too."

"I did Miss Watson, thank you" he stated pleasantly, smiling at her as he moved around the table. "Sherlock" he stated, extending his hand. Sherlock glanced towards him, his attention drawn from Angus's broken and cracked features, and shook his hand with strength and conviction.

"Thank you, Alfredo" he began, before withdrawing his hand. "Your help has, as always, been invaluable." Alfredo nodded, saying a few more words of thanks to Joan, before being escorted out by Sherlock. Joan spent the next few seconds staring at the bust, running her fingertip along the large cracks which had appeared after Angus's most recent abuse. The bust reminded her, oddly, of her relationship with Sherlock. They had almost lost each other, after the incidents with Mycroft and Le Milieu. She was grateful that everything was now dealt with, that they had been able to pick up the pieces and repair the model of their friendship. She pondered this for a moment. _Friendship_. It was almost as if, in fixing the damage done to their previous relationship, some of the pieces had been changed around, or altered slightly, to create an entirely new model. As she smiled at this thought, she continued to run her fingers along the lines which divided Angus, almost like the frontiers on a map, before turning around to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. She was certain that he would want to talk, to continue their conversation from the morning. He would probably be feeling confused, slightly uncertain, perhaps even frightened. Which was understandable. She had also been wrestling with these emotions throughout the day, and would be glad to further discuss the matter. As would he.

"The sofa is now free of Angus" she stated, quietly and simply. "Did you want to join me in the living area?" she asked, pushing herself up from her seat. "There's some fresh tea in the pot." Sherlock nodded slowly, withdrawing his hands from his pockets as he walked towards Joan. She stood still, her hand resting on the top of the chair, as she watched him with interest.

"Would you like some tea, too, Watson?" he asked gently, placing his hand next to hers on the chair. He appeared to be nervous, almost uncertain of how to approach her, to talk to her. It seemed as though the boundaries which had been between them, despite disappearing, still left confusing and faint markings which indicated where they had once been. Joan smiled and nodded, before taking a step closer towards him, before leaning up and kissing him on the cheek, as she rested her bandaged hand upon his chest. Sherlock sighed contentedly at this action, closing his eyes briefly, and opening them as he felt her warmth move away from him.

"Yes please" she spoke eventually, looking up at him curiously. He seemed to be much more relaxed, and much more like his usual self. She was glad. "I'll wait for you in there" she stated gently, before moving towards the living area. She walked slowly over to the red couch, rearranging the cushions slightly, and running her hand slowly across the seats and down the sides, to assure herself that there were no more sharp fragments of Angus waiting to catch the limbs of anyone who sat on the sofa. Once satisfied, she brushed the seats down gently with her hands, before sitting herself down in the seat closest to the window. She sighed as she did so, and leaned back into the cushioned seat. Her back was still aching slightly, making it difficult to get comfortable. She made a mental note to avoid spending significant periods of time sitting in hard-backed wooden chairs, especially when leaning over tables. As she leaned back into the cushions, and the pain in her back decreased, she closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. A few moments later, her eyes flickered open slowly, as Sherlock entered the room and stood over her. He offered her a hot cup, which she accepted, leaning forward and sipping from it cautiously, as he took up the seat next to her, tapping his foot on the floor nervously.

Joan watched Sherlock's foot for a moment, before looking up and studying his face. He seemed to be nervous, uncertain of how to act or react. She called his name once, which drew his attention towards her. She smiled at him warmly, before waiting patiently for him to begin to talk. A few moments later, he began.

"Watson, I-" he paused, tapping his foot on the floor for a few moments, before stopping, and leaning back in his seat. He placed his cup of tea on the ground, before clasping his hands in his lap and turning to face her. "I want... I want to thank you, for... for what you said this morning. It helped me to... to consider things and to... to achieve a level of clarity which had been, until this morning, eluding me." Joan nodded in response, placing her own cup on the ground before devoting her complete attention towards Sherlock, and waiting for him to continue. "As I have said to you" he continued, sounding markedly more confident and self-assured, "I do not find this... these kind of... discussions... particularly easy. But our brief conversation this morning helped me to realise exactly what it is that I... how I currently hold you, in my own mind, at least. And I... I wanted to let you know... to reassure you... that I feel the exact same way." Sherlock paused for a moment, before leaning back slightly and meeting Joan's gaze. She could feel her heart beating faster and faster, and her breath caught in her throat, preventing her from responding immediately. "I don't know what... how to explain this, what we have, how we... how we work. How our relationship works. But I... what I am certain of, and what I can do, is be completely sure that it is something which does _work_, and which makes us both... happy. Content. Do you... Is that-"

"Yes." Joan stated simply, her voice quiet and rather breathless. "What we have, how we... how we are, may not be conventional. It may not be what people believe to be normal. But normality is not something that you and I are too familiar with. What we do, who we are, is so far departed from normality, that it is hardly surprising that the nature of our relationship also evades that category. But we are both happy, we are both... we have a deeper, more concrete understanding of the nature of our feelings, and how we feel about one another. Although we are not absolutely certain of... of what this is in terms of... in terms of other relationships, I don't think it matters. We can't force it, or attempt to categorise ourselves or how we feel. You're right. We are happy, we are content. And we will make sure our baby is too. Whatever else happens, or develops, or changes, we will deal with, as and when it arises, in the best way that we are capable of. You and I, together." She spoke calmly and gently, and Sherlock maintained her gaze throughout her speech, and was nodding at intervals. His gaze drifted from her face and to the ground, before he leaned back slightly, and turned to the side to face her more directly.

"And you are, aren't you Watson?" he asked, his eyes wide and vacant. "Happy?"

She smiled, nodding confidently in response. "Yes. Amongst all the confusion and all the uncertainty, that is one thing that I have absolutely no doubt over" she paused for a moment, allowing her words to sink in. "What about you?"

"Yes." He responded immediately, his voice calm and even. He looked directly at her, breathing in slowly and continuing to speak. "Happy is, in my opinion, possibly understating how I feel when I... when we are..."

"Yeah" Joan stated. "I know what you mean." Sherlock smiled gratefully at her, nodding as he held his clasped hands tightly in his lap. Although he was grateful for this conversation, and meant every word that he said, he was still slightly uncomfortable and afraid. Commitment and labelling, especially in terms of romance and relationships, frightened him. But with Joan, there was no pressure, no demands, and no anger. There was just acceptance, support and something else. Something which he could not explain but which, if he were capable of believing completely in the term, would describe it as love. Joan sensed his concerns, and edged herself slowly towards him, placing one hand over his clasped ones and sitting quietly, waiting for him to speak. He remained silent for a few moments, before leaning slightly towards her, and resting his head on her shoulder. She closed her eyes contentedly at the contact, and leaned onto him in return, resting her head on his. They remained like this for a long period of time, until Sherlock moved his head slightly, until it rested on her chest. He could hear the beating of her heart, and feel the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed rhythmically. She was asleep. He remained like this for what felt like an eternity, before closing his eyes slightly, and allowing himself to fall asleep with her.

Some time later, Sherlock felt himself shift slightly in his seat, and his eyes opened slightly. He was still resting on Joan's chest, and could feel the warm and comforting feel of her presence, as well as her heart beating strongly beneath his cheek. From her breathing, it was clear that she was still asleep. Sherlock slowly and reluctantly lifted his head from her chest, and sat up next to her, as he reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone. He checked the time briefly, and checked it again once more, certain that his heavy and tired eyes were inaccurately reading the numbers in front of him. He checked the clock in front of him, and then his phone once more, which confirmed to him that it was the correct time. It was almost nine o'clock. He and Joan had been resting on the sofa for almost four hours. Sherlock rubbed his eyes tiredly, as he slowly adjusted himself to the brightness of the room. He glanced down at Joan, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Her head was resting on the back of the sofa, and her left arm was wrapped across her abdomen. Despite her comfort and restfulness, he knew that, in the long term, allowing her to remain asleep in this position would cause her much pain and discomfort when she woke. He slowly pushed himself off the sofa, and stood directly in front of her, watching her for a moment whilst she slept.

"Watson" he called gently, reaching down and touching her hand. He placed his hand in her own, clasping it tightly, and shook it slightly as he continued to speak. "Watson, Watson wake up." After a few moments Joan shifted slightly in her seat, sighing deeply before opening her eyes, and fixing her attention upon him. She seemed slightly confused, and raised her free hand to he forehead, before rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"What...time is it?" she mumbled, leaning forwards and running her hand through her hair.

"It's almost nine" he responded automatically, watching her as she sighed. "We should get you upstairs. I would have left you resting, but was concerned for your back."

"Mm-hm" Joan replied, still leaning forward and facing the ground. She then lifted her head up and stared up at him, smiling gratefully, before easing herself out of the chair. She sighed as she stood, adjusting her blazer, and making her way slowly towards the stairs. She held on to the bannister as she slowly ascended, and Sherlock followed her cautiously behind. By the time they reached her room, she was exhausted, and could not wait to get some sleep. She regretted falling asleep on the couch, as her back was aching more than it had been earlier. She sighed as she gently pushed against the bedroom door, walking slowly in, as Sherlock held it open for her. She turned slightly, inviting him in with her eyes, which he assented to. Joan moved slowly towards the bed, removing her clothing and pulling on an oversized shirt, before picking up her red jumper from the chair by her bed and easing herself into it. Sherlock removed his shirt and trousers, pulling on a pair of grey sweatpants and an old t-shirt, which were in the basket with the other freshly-cleaned laundry, which Joan had been working on the day before her kidnapping. They walked slowly and tiredly over to the bed, before throwing aside the covers and blankets, and easing themselves into their sanctuary. Joan lay on her right side, facing Sherlock, and felt her back pain slowly decrease. She sighed in a satisfied manner as he leaned down, his head resting on the pillow, their faces inches apart. Joan's sparkling eyes held his gaze for a moment, as he pulled the covers and blankets over them both, before resting his hand across her waist. She smiled in the darkness, and moved slightly closer to him, allowing him to hold her tightly against him. Within moments, they were both asleep once more, calmly and peacefully, wrapped in each other's arms.

Sherlock and Joan remained asleep for about four hours, neither of them stirring, until shortly before two in the morning. Joan shifted slightly in her sleep, moving so she was lying on her back, before turning to lie on her other side. She opened her eyes suddenly, before placing one hand on her abdomen, and exhaling sharply. Her back was aching once more, and the pain felt more intense than it did before. She also felt another tightening feeling in her stomach, followed by a dull, aching sensation. Her eyes widened, and she ran her hand across her abdomen cautiously, before realising what was happening. She could not believe that she had only just realised. She had experienced some of the symptoms the day before, but put them down to prolonged time sat in a hard-backed chair. She sighed at her lack of awareness, before gently easing herself into a sitting position. As she tilted her body to face forwards, she was suddenly struck by a strong, tightening pain in her abdomen, which was so potent that it took her breath away. She breathed in deeply, her breath ragged and slightly panicked, as she lowered her head and wrapped her right arm across her abdomen. She tried to remain calm, breathing in deeply as she pushed the blankets aside, before turning towards Sherlock, who had just began to stir.

"Watson?" he asked tiredly, pushing himself onto his side to face her. She was sitting up in bed, with a frightened and pained look on her face, which made him forget his tiredness almost instantly. He pushed himself up immediately, observing her with wide and alert eyes. "Watson, what is it, what's wrong?" he asked, placing one hand on her shoulder and tilting her gently towards him. Her whole body was shaking.

"It's... I..." she spoke quietly, struggling to speak as she battled to control her breathing. "Sherlock, I... I think I'm in labour."


	29. Chapter 28

Sherlock froze, and for a moment it felt as though his heart stopped beating. His hand remained on Joan's shoulder, and he was gently tilting her towards him. His mind was racing, and he was only drawn from his fearful and panicked thoughts by Joan, who cried out and pushed herself backwards on the bed, before leaning forwards and wrapping her arms around her abdomen. Sherlock was brought out of his thoughts immediately, and became instantly aware of the fact that Joan was panicking. Her breathing, her movements, her wild and frightened eyes, all revealed that she was terrified. She was in pain, she was afraid, and she was losing control.

"Watson, listen to me, Watson" he stated, in a more confident tone than he believed himself to be able of achieving at this particular moment. "It's alright, you're going to be alright. Just... just try to breathe deeply, okay? Calmly, calmly... that's it, yes." He soothed her gently, placing one hand on her back and the other on her shoulder, and slowly easing her back so she was sitting up against the pillows. Her breathing was becoming more regular and less strained, but her eyes glistened with tears, and her right arm remained firmly wrapped across her abdomen. Sherlock turned to face the opposite direction, grabbing something from the bedside table, as Joan shifted uncomfortably in her position and tried to remain calm.

"It's too soon" she whispered, her voice containing a trace of panic. Sherlock turned slowly back towards her, and she saw that he was holding his cell phone in his hand. "It's... I can't, I..." she broke off, inhaling deeply, before leaning back against the pillows and exhaling in sharp, ragged breaths.

Sherlock put his phone down on the bed and moved towards her slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder and once more turning her to face him. He needed to comfort her, to help her to remain calm, and to feel less frightened and out of control. He had never seen her so panicked before, but it was completely understandable. He wanted to help her, in any way he could.

"Watson, it's alright, look" he began, as she slowly turned to face him, her eyes wide and tearful. "We aren't sure that you are actually in labour yet, alright, so please don't-"

"Sherlock-" she mumbled, so quietly that he was not aware of her speech. She inhaled deeply and shifted slightly in her seat.

"-don't panic, alright? And even if this is the case, thirty-six weeks is a safe amount of time for the baby to have developed. Everything is fine, you are both healthy, and I-"

"Sherlock" she stated, in a voice that was a slightly shakier version of her own. "Sherlock, my waters have broken".

Sherlock removed his hand from her shoulder and slowly moved the blanket that was covering her legs. He inhaled slowly, his eyes wide and brimming with concern, before turning back to her with a calm and almost impassive expression.

"It's alright, Watson" he reassured her, placing his hand back on her shoulder, and drawing her towards him. She leaned into his chest, burying her head in his shirt, as he gently soothed her. She felt another wave of pain sweep through her body, affecting her stomach and back, and she pushed herself away from him, leaning forward as she held her abdomen with one hand, and gripped the bedsheets tightly with the other. Sherlock continued to soothe her, whilst reaching for his phone, dialling a few numbers, and calling 911. He spoke to the operator for just a few moments, giving the person on the other end all the relevant information. Joan was vaguely aware of what he was doing, but she was not paying too much attention. Instead, she was focusing on the pain. It was intense, almost unbearable. She had never experienced anything like it before, and it frightened her. She felt as though she was very out of control, which terrified her even more than the pain levels. During the time Sherlock spent on the phone, she gritted her teeth and inhaled deeply and periodically, determined to control her breathing. She found herself feeling remarkably calmer and more in control as she did so, and was unaware of the fact that Sherlock had already hung up the phone, and was sitting on the bed and watching her. He couldn't imagine how much pain she was in, and how terrified she must be, but she was doing remarkably well. Sherlock waited for a few moments, until Joan's breathing sounded more controlled and relaxed, before speaking again.

"The ambulance will be here within fifteen minutes, Watson" he began, edging closer to her as she slowly turned her head to face him. Her eyes were wide, and bright with tears and fear. Before he could ask her if she was alright, she began to speak, in a voice which was a slightly shakier though clearly identifiable version of her own.

"Sherlock I-" she hissed in pain, pushing herself back slightly on the bed. Sherlock watched with curiosity, and was about to place his hand gently on her arm, when the movement was stopped by Joan's next words. "I don't... I don't think we have that long."

Sherlock watched her with confusion for a moment, and he called her name a couple of times until she turned to face him directly. "Watson, what do you mean? What... what is it?" he asked, his voice gentle yet confident. This reassured Joan, who turned towards him immediately, continuing to talk as she began to remove her thick, red jumper.

"Sherlock we... we don't have-" Joan's statement was cut short as she was struck with another contraction, causing her to wrap one arm around her abdomen and dig her nails into the depths of the bedding and she began to calm her breathing. Without even thinking, Sherlock immediately and instinctively reached across to her, moving his hand palm-up underneath the hand which she was digging into the bedding. He squeezed her hand tightly, and was talking to her in a kind a gentle tone, using words which she was unable to focus on. But his demeanour, his actions and his tone comforted her greatly, and she was surprised at how much it helped her to establish control over her breathing and her pain. She was feeling more in control, and less afraid than she had been. She was also finding herself able to think in a more clear and logical manner. She knew that, based on her previous doctor's appointments, the baby was very healthy and full developed. The baby had been active recently, and was progressing wonderfully. The only issues or complications which arose at the doctor's appointment were in relation to her own health which, at this moment in time, mattered very little to her at all. As the contraction subsided, and she turned towards Sherlock, she saw deep-rooted concern etched into his features. And yet, somehow, he still retained his confidence, his calmness, and the look of conviction which reassured her. Staring into his eyes, they exchanged a brief yet memorable look, which assured them both that everything was going to be alright. She almost believed it, but not quite.

"I... my contractions are about a minute apart. My waters have already broken, and I... I feel like I need... I need to-" She was cut short once more by another wave of pain, one which was stronger and more overwhelming than the last. She had to breathe in sharply, and struggled not to scream, as she gripped Sherlock's hand tightly. She could feel him returning her grasp, and was aware of movement from his direction, followed by the warm and comforting touch of his hand on her lower back. He rubbed the bottom of her back, whilst applying gentle yet even pressure, and Joan felt herself calming. The pain lessened slightly, but was still intense, yet she found herself able to manage the pain more effectively. She was not afraid of it any more, and she was no longer flooded with feelings of confusion and uncertainty. She realised that she had been experiencing signs of labour the day before, but had dismissed them, believing them to be due to the activities which she had undertaken during the day. She knew that the pain she was experiencing now was very real, and that she was into the active stages of labour. She knew that they had very little time before their baby was born. As she began to breathe more evenly again, she found herself thinking with the same degree of clarity that she had achieved just minutes ago. She knew that the fifteen minutes it would take for the ambulance crew to arrive would mean that the baby would be here before they would. She felt her chest tighten with fear for a moment, but then forced this feeling aside. Her baby needed her to focus, and so did Sherlock. And as a former medical practitioner, and mother-to-be, so did she.

"Watson" he stated calmly, placing his fingers between her own, and squeezing tightly, which drew her attention towards him. "Watson, tell me what is happening. What are you-"

"I need... Sherlock I..." she began in a shaky and slightly fractured manner, before breathing in and continuing with confidence. "We need to... to get things ready, okay?" she asked gently, watching him with an intense and commanding stare. He nodded immediately, moving slightly closer towards her, and breathing in slowly.

"Tell me what you need, Watson. I can help you, I will help you."

"I... We need to... My medical bag, it's, it's in the wardrobe" she began, gazing at the piece of furniture opposite her. Sherlock nodded immediately, removing his hand from her own, before moving from the bed and to the wardrobe. As he opened it and bent down to collect the bag, Joan began to speak once more, in a voice even cooler and calmer than before. "There are some blankets and spare bedding on the shelf at the top, would you bring those too?" Sherlock picked up the bag and reached up for the other items, hanging them over his arm as she approached the bed. Joan breathed in sharply, and began to try to manage another contraction. She was unaware of Sherlock's actions during this time, but would have been amazed if she had seen the quickness and confidence in the way in which he acted.

Sherlock reached the bed and placed the bag and the materials on the bottom, placing one blanket on the radiator near Joan's bed, and the other two by her side. Sherlock opened Joan's medical bag and pulled out various items, placing them to the right of the bed, a few feet from where Joan was sitting. He then unfolded one of the medium-sized bedsheets, folded it in half, and then approached Joan.

"Watson, Watson I need you to listen to me for a moment, alright?" He asked in a gentle yet commanding tone. She was drawn from her pain and to his features, and nodded at him as he spoke. "You are going to be alright, Watson, I assure you. You and the baby are going to be alright. You can do this, of that I have absolutely no doubt. And I will help you, okay? I will not leave your side, Joan. I will be right here."

She nodded at his speech, before lowering her head slightly, and smiling nervously. This made Sherlock feel both concerned and relieved, and he tilted his head slightly to watch her. "What is it, Watson?" he asked, his voice almost reflecting his normal tone.

"Nothing, I just-" she began, breaking off as she turned her head to face him. "That is the first time you have called me 'Joan' since I... since you found out about the baby."

Sherlock considered this for a moment, before nodding in agreement. He always called her 'Watson', usually. Well, most of the time. He always addressed her by her surname, but would occasionally refer to her using her forename, usually when talking to his father or brother. But he seldom called her by her first name. It was odd, and yet, seemingly familiar. As he considered how normal and how natural it felt to call her by her first name, his attention was drawn to the present situation. He realised, at that moment, that, despite the unfamiliarity of the situation, he felt prepared and he felt able. He and Joan were both well acquainted with medicine and medical practices, and he believed that, between them, they would be able to ensure the safety of their baby, despite his or her slightly early arrival. As he pondered these thoughts, his attention was drawn towards the brave yet frightened woman on the bed. Joan was calling his name gently, and he responded immediately.

"Thank you" she stated, reviewing the items on the bed. "I just need to-" Joan was prevented from finished her sentence by another contraction, which felt as though it was about to tear her body apart. For the first time that night, since first experiencing the contractions, Joan screamed. She seldom screamed, or shouted, or swore in any circumstances. But the pain she was experiencing was so intense and so overwhelming, that she could not prevent herself from crying out. Her scream was pained and frantic, and Sherlock was immediately by her side. He placed one hand on her lower back, and the other in her own hand, which she squeezed with impressive strength as she struggled to control her breathing and her pain. Sherlock drew her closer to him, resting his head against hers, and whispering softly and reassuringly in her ear. He felt her whole body shaking beneath his grasp, and he continued to soothe her, with a notable degree of success. Joan stopped shaking, and her breathing returned to normal, as she drew her legs close to her body and dug her heels into the bed.

"I'm sorry" she mumbled, in a voice like a whisper. "I'm sorry" she repeated breathlessly, leaning tiredly into him. She felt limp against his side, and Sherlock removed his hand from her back and turned Joan towards him, so that he could see her face. Her eyes were closed, and her face was a ghostly pale hue. Her lips were dry and pale, and she was struggling to raise her head. Joan felt tired and completely drained, and the urge to allow her eyes to remain closed and slip into a deep and restful slumber almost completely overwhelmed her. But not quite. Despite her lethargy and her pain, she found herself thinking of the baby. _The baby needs you_ she kept saying to herself, even mumbling it to herself a couple of times. Joan forced her eyes open gently, and found herself inches from Sherlock, who was calling her name gently yet imploringly, and was tilting her head towards him as he attempted to place her into a seating position.

"Joan, Joan are you alright? Joan?" he asked, pushing her up against the pillows and placing one hand on her bare leg, and the other on her cheek. Joan slowly opened her eyes, and tried to push herself up further, but struggled to. She felt incredibly weak and tired, and could not understand why. She had felt strong, almost confident and slightly less panicked just moments before, but now she felt completely and utterly drained and exhausted. She fought her body to stay awake, opening her eyes wide and gripping Sherlock's hand tightly. It was a battle she was determined to win. As she gazed at Sherlock, she saw him staring at a spot by her legs, and his entire face paled. His eyes widened and he inhaled sharply, before turning towards her. He grabbed a bed sheet from the small pile on the bed, and placed it over Joan's legs, which were raised. Joan watched him with curiosity and confusion, before pushing herself up against the pillows and moving the sheet down slowly. It was at that moment that she became aware of what it was that Sherlock had been so disturbed by. She realised that she was bleeding.

Joan inhaled deeply, and found herself feeling more awake and alert by this startling revelation. She turned to face Sherlock, who had moved towards her and was adjusting the white bed sheet, using it to cover her thighs as she raised her legs, and she drew them back. "Sherlock-" she began, in a shaky voice.

"You're bleeding, Joan, but it's alright" he began, in a tone which betrayed none of his internal fear. She felt drawn to him and his words, and found herself almost believing them. She saw the blood, and knew that, whilst it was not considerable, it was certainly more than was expected. She was frightened and she was in pain, and she desperately hoped that the medics would arrive earlier than their estimation. The baby needed them. Before she could complete this train of thought, she was drawn back to the present moment by the sound of Sherlock's voice. "Joan, I need you to look at me, alright?" he asked gently, yet in a confident tone which highlighted the need for action. "Joan, you are close. You are very close, alright? The baby is almost here, and you are doing absolutely wonderfully" Sherlock paused for a moment, placing his hand on the sheet covering her thigh, as he placed a towel beneath her legs. "Now, we don't have much time, alright? The baby will be here is just a few minutes, and we are ready. Okay? We are prepared, we have everything we need, and you will both be alright." He spoke with confidence and conviction, and Joan found herself subconsciously nodding as he spoke. Sherlock paused between statements, allowing her to continue to breathe calmly, before continuing. "I've placed a towel beneath you and a sheet across your legs, and there is a blanket on the radiator, which will be warm by the time the baby arrives, okay?" Joan nodded once more, not shifting her gaze from his eyes. She had been vaguely aware of his movements, but had not considered them in any great depth. She was afraid.

Sherlock moved slightly so that he was sitting by her side, and placed his hand over her own, which was resting on the bed and was shaking uncontrollably. Joan's teeth were chattering, and her whole body was shivering. Joan seemed tired, and her body was coveting the rest which she so desperately needed. But Joan's brave face and glistening eyes juxtaposed the physical aspects of her current situation. She appeared calm, prepared and convicted. And she was.

"We can do this, Joan" he stated gently, squeezing her shaking hand. "We will do this together, alright? I will not leave you, either of you."

"I... I know, I..." Joan was struggling to express herself coherently, and found that he thoughts became once more clouded and confused. She also found herself feeling tired and breathless. She did not want to alarm Sherlock, but she was fairly certain that she was still bleeding. "We... we can do this" she began, offering him a small, weak smile. "The baby needs us" she stated warmly, before being overtaken by another contraction. She pushed her hands into the bed, almost rising from it, as she dug her heels into the mattress and stifled a scream.

"Joan, Joan" Sherlock repeated, as he moved lower down the bed. She could feel his hands on the bottoms of her legs, and she instinctively adjusted herself so that he would be able to help her. "Joan, you don't need to stop yourself from screaming, or crying, or doing anything else, alright?" he began, as Joan nodded briefly in response, before breathing in raggedly. "If you want to scream, to shout, to cry, do it. Do whatever it is that you need to do, alright? I will be right here, I will help you." Joan looked up briefly, her eyes filled with tears. She believed him. Despite her current condition, and the fact that she was certain that she was less well and stable than either of them realised, she had never felt so safe, so protected. And she knew that the baby would be too. "Joan, are you happy for me to-" Sherlock broke off, uncertain of how to phrase his request. He felt suddenly embarrassed, uncertain of how to proceed with his statement. Joan nodded quickly, and pushed herself back against the headboard, as she spoke to him in a tired and breathless voice which he did not recognise.

"Please" she began, which drew his gaze immediately to her own. "Do what you have to do" she nodded, trying to smile once more. "Help the baby". As if on cue, Joan doubled over as she was struck by another wave of pain, and pushed her hands down upon the bed, digging her heels into the mattress. She was aware of Sherlock's movements, and did not feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. Instead, she was overcome by the same feeling of safety and protectedness which she had experienced a few moments before. It was an incredible feeling, and it empowered her as she continued to push through the contraction. As it subsided, she felt breathless, and leaned her head back against the pillows which were pulling her welcomingly into their warm embrace. Despite her tiredness and feelings of physical weakness, Joan fought the overwhelming desire to relax herself, to slip into a deep sleep. She pushed herself back from the pillows, exhaling sharply as she was struck by another contraction, and continued to push, following Sherlock's instructions. She was aware of the sound of his voice, of his movements and his actions. She could feel that the baby was close to being born, and suddenly became aware of how far she had got. Sherlock was reaching for the warm blanket which was lying across the radiator, and pulled it to his side. Joan saw this movement as she opened her eyes and prepared herself for another contraction, and for some reason, this occurrence frightened her. She felt her strength and her conviction depart her almost entirely, and her body began to shake once more. Sherlock seemed to notice this almost immediately, and looked up towards her pale and frightened face.

"I can't do this" she stated in a quiet, subdued tone. "I... I can't, I..."

"Joan" Sherlock stated in a calm and gentle tone. It was incredible, really, how he could adopt such a tone. It was kind and gentle, yet conveyed a sense of urgency and need. "Joan, you are very close. You have done beautifully, truly. The baby will be here with the next contraction." Joan shook slightly, and felt as though all of the breath had left her body, and her chest tightened. She froze, and shifted her gaze to her right, to where the warm blanket was resting on the bed. She stared at it for a moment as she tried to control her breathing. She could sense Sherlock moving slightly, and he placed his hand on her leg reassuringly, drawing her attention towards him. "Joan, you are almost there, the baby is right here, okay? After the next contraction, the baby will be with us, and you will be alright." He spoke with calmness and conviction, although his eyes betrayed his fear.

"What's wrong?" Joan breathed, pushing down upon the bed. "What's... what's happening?"

Sherlock leaned forward slightly, pursing his lips together, before parting them slightly and beginning to speak. "Joan, I... it's fine, but... we need to make sure the baby gets here as soon as we can, so that you can be helped too, alright?" He sounded fairly calm, but even through her pain and confusion, Joan realised that he was not. But from his language, from what he was saying, the baby was not the one in danger. She was. Joan nodded in understanding, as Sherlock began to mumble some assurances, informing her that she would be fine.

"Sherlock" she began, her eyes tired and tearful. "It's alright." Those two words were spoken with more certainty and conviction than anything she had said during the entire night, but they did not give Sherlock the reassurance that he needed. Joan needed medical attention very soon, and he was worried about what would happen if the ambulance was late or in any way delayed. He glanced at the clock on the bed, and realised that they should be about five minutes away. He turned back to Joan, who offered him a warm and comforting smile, before bracing herself for another contraction. This time, she pushed as hard as she could, the sound of his comforting voice drowning out her pain. A few moments later, the room was filled with the gentle cries of their baby.

Joan felt herself fall backwards against the pillows, leaning into them for a moment, before the sound of her child crying brought her instantly out of her reverie. She pushed herself forwards from the pillow, watching as Sherlock wrapped their child in the warm blanket. Joan leaned forward slightly, and with great effort, and attempted to catch a glimpse of her child. Sherlock looked up at that moment, smiling at her warmly, as he held their swaddled baby close to his chest.

"She's beautiful, Joan" he stated, turning the swaddled bundle to face Joan. _He said 'she'_. Joan's eyes widened, and her attention was completely devoted to the tiny, healthy little person in front of her. The baby's lungs were clearly fine, although she had quietened almost as soon as she had been held and wrapped in the warm blanket. Joan placed her shaking hand upon the blanket near her face, drawing it to one side, so she could see the baby's face. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful and incredible child Joan had ever seen. She had dark hair, a beautiful and healthy complexion, and eyes which were very much her father's. She stared up at Joan with an expression which she was sure Sherlock had given her on multiple occasions.

"Hello, sweetheart" Joan stated in a warm yet quiet tone, as she felt the familiar feeling of tiredness begin to creep over her. She gazed adoringly at the little girl's face, watching with interest as she opened her eyes to watch her mother, before allowing them to close gently, and adopting a peaceful and satisfied expression. "Is she okay?" Joan asked Sherlock, in a low and uncertain tone which she did not recognise as belonging to her.

Sherlock looked up at Joan encouragingly, and nodded with conviction. "She is breathing independently, has a strong heartbeat, and is alert and receptive to the sounds of our voices" he began in a warm and comforting tone. "She is slightly small, I would estimate that she is not quite six pounds, but she is perfect, Joan. She is... wonderful." Sherlock looked from Joan to the baby, who lay sleeping contently in his arms. He watched her for a moment, before looking back towards Joan. "Joan, I need you to remain perfectly still, alright?" he said gently, as he began to ease himself from the bed. "Lie back, it's alright. Just try to relax." Joan watched him with confusion, but assented to his requests. She was feeling very tired and weak, which she knew was to be expected. But at the same time, she had an overwhelming feeling that something was not quite right. She knew that she was not well, that she had lost a considerable amount of blood, but she had been so concerned about her baby, and relieved that she was okay, that her own health became a secondary concern to her. But not to Sherlock, who was watching her intently, and moving slowly towards her.

"It's very cold tonight" she began, in a quiet and subdued tone. "That...the...blanket is not...not enough". She felt herself becoming more and more tired, and it was becoming more difficult for her to speak, to focus. She turned wearily to her left and picked up her favourite red jumper, which she had previously discarded. She opened it out, placing it on her lap, and then turned to Sherlock, reaching her arms out weakly towards him. He reacted immediately, gently placing the baby into her arms, and watching her with amazement and awe as she drew their tiny daughter close to her chest. Sherlock placed one hand of Joan's shoulder and used the other to support the baby. He knew that Joan was exhausted, and suffering from the effects of fairly substantial blood-loss. He had not told her exactly how unwell she had been, but was confident that he had been able to stop the bleeding, and that she was not in any immediate danger. Still, she required medical attention immediately, and he glanced from his daughter and her mother to the clock on the table. _Two minutes_, he thought to himself.

As he considered this, his attention did not leave Joan or the baby. Joan slowly lowered the infant into her lap, so that she was lying in the centre of Joan's trademark red jumper. Joan stared at this image for a moment, not realising until just now how small the baby really was. She was completely dwarfed by the red material. Joan drew the bottom of the jumper across the baby's legs, before pulling the sides across and over her, wrapping the red arms around her, and drawing the warm, sleeping bundle close to her chest. Joan cradled the baby, who was still being lightly supported by Sherlock, and stared down at her with wonder.

"Thank you" she was able to mumble, as she looked up towards Sherlock with warm and grateful eyes. "You... you saved her. Thank... thank y-" Before she could finish her sentence, Sherlock felt Joan's body go limp once more, and her eyes closed slowly. Despite this, she managed to ensure that the baby was held tightly against her, protected by the layers of material which ensured her warmth and comfort.

"Joan? Joan can you hear me?" Sherlock asked in a puzzled and urgent tone, as he slowly removed the baby from her grasp. "Joan, it's alright, it is alright. You're going to be okay" he soothed.

Sherlock placed the baby gently upon the bed, lying her between two pillows, and adjusting the blanket to ensure that she was sufficiently warm. He then turned directly to Joan, and tilted her head forwards as he removed the pillows from behind her, before gently easing her down, so that she was lying flat on the bed. He leaned over her and took her pulse, finding that her breathing was slow, but her heart was strong. He kept calling her name, muttering reassurances to her, as he pulled blankets across her shivering body. She was pale and tired, and her eyes flickered open occasionally. Sherlock was fairly certain that she was suffering the effects of the blood-loss and early delivery, as well as exhaustion. She would be alright. Joan would be alright. "It's okay, sweetheart" he said gently. Joan's eyes flickered open at the term of endearment, and a small smile graced her pale lips.

"Sweetheart-" she mumbled, as she turned her head towards the baby, staring at her for a moment. Joan's features softened, and she exhaled in a satisfied manner, before slowly closing her eyes.

"Joan" Sherlock stated, placing one hand on her cheek and pulling her face towards him. "Joan, Joan can you-"

"Sir?" came a voice from the left, causing Sherlock to look up instantly. "EMTs, sir. It's alright, we got it." Spoke the tall, fair-haired man, as he and a female colleague entered the room. Sherlock stared at them in confusion for a moment, wondering how they had entered the building without him realising. He then turned his attention back to Joan, who was lying unconscious upon the bed. He felt her pulse once more, which was strong, and he lowered her head onto the mattress, only moving from his side as the male medic gently placed his hand upon his shoulder, and drew him aside. "It's okay, sir, I got her. You guys did a great job, but we can help you now, okay? We'll take good care of her, I promise." Sherlock nodded absently, before turning to the left as he heard the familiar sounds of his daughter's gentle cries. The female EMT had just picked her up, and was holding her to her chest, before moving towards a spare section of the bed and laying the infant down. Sherlock watched as she examined his daughter, and nodded in understanding as she confirmed that the baby was healthy.

"She... she's early" Sherlock stated, turning his body to face the kind young woman tending to his daughter. "She... Joan was thirty-six weeks, and... and she-"

"It's alright, sir" the female EMT stated, as she wrapped the baby in her blanket and the red jumper, before walking slowly over to Sherlock. "Could you hold her for us? I will help to look after your wife."

"She... She's not... She isn't my wife" Sherlock stated, as he gently accepted his daughter from the female EMT. She did not seem to hear him, as she did not respond, and he held the baby tightly against his chest as he turned to face Joan. She was lying in the same position on the bed, and was being tended to by the medics. The female medic was tilting Joan's head back, and the man was adjusting the blanket across her legs. Sherlock walked over to the male medic, holding his daughter tightly as he began to speak.

"Miss Watson lost a considerable amount of blood before and during the delivery" he spoke in a low and fractured tone. "I... I managed to stop it, shortly before the baby was... it stopped" he spoke, in a dazed and slightly confused manner. The female EMT looked up towards him, slowly placing Joan's head back upon the pillow, and placing her stethoscope across her shoulders as she approached Sherlock.

"Sir, you both did a wonderful job. Now, mom here is unconscious, possibly due to the blood loss and from the trauma of the delivery. But we're gonna take her in now, okay?" She stated, in a calm and reassuring tone which would normally anger Sherlock. But not today. This was not about him.

"I understand" he spoke, in a low tone, his eyes not leaving the face of Joan Watson. As he watched her, lying motionless on the bed, he held the baby closer to him, and began to massage her back slowly. It was only then that he realised he was running his fingers through the soft material of Joan's favourite jumper. He looked down at the baby, and stared at her in wonder, considering how, despite the fact that her mother was lying unconscious a few feet away, the child was still completely immersed in her warmth and comfort.


	30. Chapter 29

There were a variety of sounds which she could perceived, some from within the room, and others from outside. She felt weightless, rested, and although her senses were heightened. She could smell the vague fragrance of freshly cut flowers, citrus cleaner, and something else, something more familiar. Sherlock. Even as Joan lay there with closed eyes, covered in white blankets and attached to various pieces of medical equipment, she could sense his presence. As she thought about it more, his scent seemed to be stronger to her, more apparent. It was wonderful. For a moment she focused on nothing else, just the evidence of her presence. As she focused on this, she became aware of a new sound, too. The sound of gentle, delicate, almost imperceptible breathing coming from her left. It was the baby. She was sleeping. Joan sighed in a satisfied and content manner, pressing her lips lightly together as she tilted her head slightly in the direction of her child. She was slowly beginning to come around, and was breathing in deeply and exhaling gradually, as if slowly preparing to awaken her body. As her mind became less clouded and she found herself able to think clearer and with more precision, she became suddenly aware of her current pain and discomfort.

She did not know how much time had passed between her baby's birth and the present moment, but she was aware that she was no longer experiencing the unbearable pain she was previously, although she was still feeling unwell. Her limbs felt heavy and her whole body ached, and she still felt fairly drowsy. It was one of the reasons why she was delaying opening her eyes. As strange as it sounded, she wanted to consult herself on herself. She wanted to understand her pain, her symptoms, in order to ascertain her present medical status. She wanted to be prepared, she wanted to understand her condition, and what had caused her to become so unwell, before she opened her eyes and talked to Sherlock. He must have been terrified. She knew that she had passed out, and could vaguely remember him calling her name. The last thing she remembered was turning to face her baby, and catching just a glimpse of her profile, before losing her battle with consciousness.

As Joan recalled this memory, the sleeping child to her left began to cry out suddenly, in the same manner as she had done before. Joan's eyes immediately snapped open, and she placed her shaking and unsteady hands by her sides, pushing herself up on the bed and turning directly to face her daughter.

"Shh, sweetheart, shh-" she whispered, slowly reaching out her hand towards the baby.

"Joan" stated a voice by the doorway, in a surprised yet even tone. "Joan, Joan" he repeated, as he walked quickly towards her, not stopping until he was by her side. Joan turned to face him just as her hand reached the chest of the crying child, who instantly quietened. Sherlock and Joan gazed at each other for a few seconds, before glancing at the once more sleeping child, and then back to each other.

Sherlock looked tired, confused and slightly worried. He was standing in front of her, tapping his fingers nervously on his thighs, and watching her with wide eyes. His lips were slightly parted, as if he wished to speak. But no words came out. Before Joan could speak, he did something which surprised her. Sherlock took a step closer to her, perched himself slowly and carefully on the edge of the bed, and then gently eased her into a hug. He wrapped his arms around her tentatively, aware that she was probably still in a considerable amount of pain, before feeling her own arms move slowly across his back, and grip him tightly. Joan closed her eyes and leaned into his shoulder, pulling him closer towards her. Despite the quickness and agility of her movements in reaching and soothing her distressed child, Joan was now feeling weak and drowsy, and her grip on Sherlock's back made him realised just how fragile she currently was. She would need some time to recover, and he would ensure that he did everything he could to help her. Everything. Anything. Joan allowed her hands to drift slowly down his back, as she leaned directly into his shoulder, before tilting her head slightly to the right and speaking slowly and in a low tone.

"Are you alright?" she mumbled, running her right hand comfortingly up his back as she spoke.

Sherlock closed his eyes as she spoke, leaning his head down and pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. "I should be the one asking you that very question" he stated, in a low and gentle tone. "Are you okay?" He asked, running one hand slowly up her back and placing it on her head, as he began to stroke her hair. He knew this comforted her, and put her at her ease. He felt that it still had this effect, as she leaned closer into him, and her whole body relaxed. She murmured in response, before slowly tilting her head past his ear and towards his cheek, and kissed him softly.

"I'm fine, Sherlock" she stated, in a voice which sounded slightly more confident than the one she had used previously. "I'm okay".

She felt Sherlock move slightly in his position on the bed, sitting just inches from her, as she watched him with tired yet alert eyes. She was sitting up against the pillows, the white blankets and sheets of the hospital bed wrapped loosely around her, her fragile frame enclosed in a light blue hospital gown. She no longer appeared pale or in pain, or panicked in the least. Although she still seemed to be weary and slightly confused, which was completely understandable, she was awake, alert and watching him with bright eyes. Joan was glowing. Sherlock continued to sit in silence, observing her carefully, as her eyes widened and gazed around the room. She realised that she was in a hospital bed, a private and incredibly expensive one judging by the layout and décor. The room was almost entirely white, and she was sitting in a comfortable bed in the centre of the room, which rested against her wall. There was a wooden door directly in front of her, and a window and two seats to her left. On her right was a bedside table, adorned with some beautiful calla lilies, explaining the scent she noticed earlier. To her left was the chair where Sherlock had been sitting, unknown to her, for the past eight hours, until she had regained consciousness. Slightly in front of this chair, and against the wall next to her bed, lay the small plastic crib containing her sleeping baby. Joan's eyes rested on this image, and stared at it intently, admiring her beautiful daughter as she slept. Sherlock followed her eye-line, and watched as her eyes softened and her lips broke into a smile. She watched her baby for several moments, staring with interest and adoration. Sherlock had never seen her looking so content.

Slowly, and regrettably, Sherlock leaned across Joan slightly, pressing a button above her bed. This drew Joan's attention slowly from the baby and towards Sherlock, who was now sitting on the bed by her side, and watching her with curious eyes. Joan looked at him for a moment, reaching across the bed and capturing his hand with her own, before parting her lips slightly and preparing to speak. He seemed afraid, anxious. And she did not understand why.

"Joan, I... The button will call your doctor, who will be here shortly, I should imagine" Joan nodded in understanding. She knew this, of course. She understood what the button was, and she had a feeling that she also understood why he pressed it. He was worried about her and, despite the fact that she was feeling much better, she knew that she was still unwell.

"What happened?" She asked gently, her eyes drifting from Sherlock to the baby, and then back to Sherlock. "Is she okay?"

"The baby is fine, Joan. Perfectly healthy." Sherlock returned immediately, his own eyes moving to the sleeping figure in the cot. Joan watched him intently, and noticed that his eyes softened too, and his face conveyed an expression which she had not seen before, and could not explain. She knew how he felt, from the expression. She could see the love and protectiveness in his eyes, and his body was practically exuding love and devotion towards the sleeping infant. He turned slowly to face her, and passed these elements on to her too. And she felt wonderful.

"She was checked over by an EMT, who arrived shortly after you... after..." he paused, shifting uncomfortably on the bed, which caused Joan to tighten her grip on his hand reassuringly. She was tired and uncomfortably, and her entire body ached, but she still needed to know that he was okay. She was fairly certain that he would not have talked to anyone about how he was feeling. She could picture him, standing by her side, his attention shifting from the sleeping child to her stricken mother. He found it difficult to open up to people, and she knew this. So the last few hours must have been unbearable for him. _Hours_, she thought. _Hours_...

"It's okay" she spoke gently, offering him a small and tired smile. "How... how long have I been-"

"Nine hours" he replied instantly, looking up from their hands to her face. "You lost consciousness nine hours ago, shortly after the baby was born. You did not... you have-" Sherlock faltered, chewing his cheek in agitation as he shifted in his seat once more. "You have been unconscious for nine hours. You haven't... you didn't respond immediately to your treatment, and the doctors were expecting you to be awake by now, but... But you-"

"It's okay, Sherlock. It's all alright, I-"

"You lost a lot of blood. There was... it-"

"Shh, Sherlock, it's alright." She stated confidently, pressing his hand firmly into hers, as she moved closer towards him, and placed her free hand on his cheek. "It's alright. I'm okay, and so is the baby" she stated simply. "And so are you."

Sherlock stared at her with wide eyes, and they shared a mutual look which neither of them could describe, but each enjoyed, and found comfort in. Sherlock placed his hand on top of the hand which was resting on his cheek, and drew it slowly towards his lips. He closed his eyes slowly as he drew her hand to his mouth, and kissed her gently.

"For a moment I... I thought that you-"

"I'm fine, Sherlock, alright?" she stated immediately, and with such confidence and conviction that Sherlock opened his eyes in surprise. "I'm okay, and I'm here." She paused for a moment, pushing their fingers together tightly and tilting his hand slightly to the left, causing him to look down and then back up towards her face. "And so is she" Joan stated, tilting her head towards the baby, watching her with interest and adoration.

Sherlock nodded slowly in comprehension. She was right, of course. She was here, and so was the baby. And they were both safe. As Sherlock watched Joan for a moment, he shifted his attention to his sleeping daughter, and felt his heart tighten. He felt such a draw towards the baby, it was something that was difficult to describe, but something wonderful. It was the strongest, most incredible, and most passionate feeling that he had ever experienced. And it was something that he was slightly confused by, and had trouble understanding. But he knew that it was in relation to the strong love he had for his daughter, and he was determined to figure it out more, to understand it. He made a mental note to ask Joan about it at a later time. As he considered this for a moment, he was drawn from his thoughts by the feeling of Joan moving across the bed, and reaching behind him. She drew in her breath sharply for a moment, causing Sherlock to turn immediately to her, and ease her back against the pillows.

"Joan what are you-"

"My chart" she stated simply, as Sherlock glanced down to the metallic object in her hands. Joan began to flick through the pages of the chart in front of her, scanning the pages quickly and with interest, before placing it down on her lap. Sherlock watched her for a moment, moving closer towards her, as she slowly looked back up towards him. "I... I lost quite a lot of-" she broke off for a moment, her eyes widening as they fell to the chart in her lap, before she glanced up at Sherlock with a confident expression. "I suffered from a placental abruption" she stated simply, pursing her lips together as she spoke. "But it says here that the bleeding was managed during my delivery and then shortly after" she paused, glancing at him with certainty "you saved me, Sherlock."

Sherlock shifted in his seat, and he broke their gaze, glancing around the room nervously. He was clearly becoming agitated, and was uncomfortable with the conversation. Joan knew that it was important that she established why, and that he needed to know too.

"You and the EMTs saved my life, and you saved the baby." She stated calmly and with conviction. "You delivered her, Sherlock. You made sure she was safe."

Sherlock's gaze shifted to various parts of the room, and only reached her own when she placed her hand over his and applied gentle pressure.

"Only just" he muttered, in a voice that was barely audible. "I almost lost you, Joan. I almost lost you both" his eyes drifted slowly from Joan to the baby, before closing for a moment, and then meeting her gaze once more. "I couldn't..." he sighed in frustration, shifting in his seat. "I didn't know that to do. I didn't... I have never felt so..."

"You were put in an incredibly difficult and totally unfamiliar position. It was quick, it was sudden and it was unexpected. The complications during and after my delivery could not have been predicted, and without you, there would have been a very different outcome." Joan stated with certainty, her voice sounding remarkably like her normal one.

"Yes, but I..." Sherlock paused, and Joan felt his hand tremble slightly beneath her own. "I knew what was wrong with you. I knew how ill you were. But I... I didn't... I couldn't act as-"

"I was very ill, and you acted immediately. If you had not have acted quickly, I would not be here right now" she stated simply. "And neither would she" Joan pulled his hand towards her, and used their entwined hands to gesture towards their sleeping child.

"I... I was unable to think as... as rationally or as..." Sherlock paused, pressing his lips together in frustration. "I did not act as I usually do, as I am able to. Instead, I... I froze" he stated, running the word over his tongue to try and make it sound familiar to him. But it was not, and nor was the reason for it confusing him. And that frightened him.

"Sherlock, listen to me" Joan urged gently, drawing his hand slowly towards her. "If I had to operate on you, give you the most basic procedure, in the most up-to-date and well-equipped hospital in the country, I... I would find it incredibly..." she pursed her lips together and her eyes widened as she struggled to complete her sentence. "I hope I would be able to be as strong as you were last night. Operating on people you... you care about" she continued tentatively, hoping that she had selected the right words, "is incredibly hard. Many people find it impossible, regardless of the circumstances. But you-" she paused, watching as he rose his head and allowed his gaze to meet her own. "What you did was incredible. And you must believe that, Sherlock. You have to understand that."

Sherlock seemed confused, although he had visibly relaxed slightly, and his breathing was slower and more even. He nodded slowly and cautiously, continuing to meet her gaze. "If anything had happened to you, Joan, or to the baby, I... I don't-"

"Nothing did happen to us, Sherlock, and that was because of you. Because of what you did. Be proud of yourself, be grateful for your knowledge and your actions, and be assured that that knowledge and those actions were brave and immediate, and that they saved both of our lives" Joan turned her head slowly from Sherlock to the baby, moving instantly back to face him. He seemed nervous and uncertain, although she believed that he was slowly beginning to understand the importance of his role, and just how much he had done for them the night before. Joan watched him intently for a few moments, before being struck by an idea.

Joan slowly drew her hand from Sherlock's, and moved herself slightly to the left, leaning towards the cot. Sherlock watched her with confusion, sitting up straighter in his position on the bed, as he continued to watch her. Joan was reaching down into the cot, and gently lifted the sleeping child from her position, whilst ensuring that the white blankets were wrapped securely around her. The room was silent, apart from the occasional "shh" or "it's alright" which Joan was mumbling to the baby as she held her closely to her chest. Joan cradled the baby, drawing her close towards her, as she planted a kiss upon her forehead, and looked down at her in wonder. Sherlock felt his breathing increase and his heart race at the sight, and his wide eyes shone as Joan slowly looked up to meet his gaze. She shifted forward, and gently began to pass the child to Sherlock, who accepted her willingly and with great care. Joan eased the baby into his arms, helping him to hold her correctly, ensuring that her head was supported. Joan then pushed the blankets of her bed down slightly, and moved closer to Sherlock, leaning against his left side as she reached a hand across to their child and adjusted her blankets slightly. Sherlock's gaze remained fixed upon the baby who, despite some initial signs of stirring, was currently asleep.

"Whenever you feel upset, or frustrated, or angry at yourself for what you believe to be a weakness in your actions, or a flaw in your abilities" Joan began, tilting her head so that she moved from staring at her daughter to Sherlock, "look at your daughter, watch her sleep, or laugh, or cry, or move. And know that it was because of your actions, because of what you did, that she is here with us now. And that there is an 'us' at all" she stated in a calm yet confident tone. "Because without you, she and I would both... we may not be here right now" she continued gently, causing Sherlock to swallow hard and face away from her for a moment, before nodding briefly. "And then you tell me exactly how you think you failed". She was speaking with kindness and understanding, and Sherlock was grateful for it. He turned slowly towards her, his eyes wide and glassy, and he nodded a few times in rapid succession.

"I'm sorry, Joan" he stated in a quiet tone. "I am very sorry."

"For what?" she asked, slightly confused.

"For making this about me." He replied simply, staring down at their sleeping child. "Out of all of the people in this room, I am the last one we should be discussing right now."

"That's not true" Joan responded immediately. "We are fine, we are healthy, we are safe" she stated, causing Sherlock to nod slowly. "And in a few days' time, after we have both rested and are recovering, we will be discharged" she continued, her eyes drifting from Sherlock's face to the baby. "And then we can take her home."

Sherlock nodded quickly, hid eyes still resting on his daughter, before glancing up at Joan. "We keep saying 'she' and 'her' and 'the baby'" he said, in a slightly distracted tone. "Is there..." he began nervously, looking at Joan with interest. "Do you know what you would like to name her?"

"I think you mean 'we'" she responded immediately, offering him a small smile. "It's strange" she began, glancing down at the baby. "There were a few names I was thinking of, including those we discussed, but none of them seem to... to fit." She stated, chewing her bottom lip nervously. "What about you?"

"How about 'Angusina', in memory of our late bust-shaped colleague?" He replied, his tone heavy with humour. His eyes were glowing as he turned to face Joan, who smiled in response, and began to laugh gently.

"I think 'Angusa' works better. Or what about Alfreda? After our other colleague. Gregsona, Bella..." She stated, looking at him in a mockingly-reproachful manner. "What kind of names do you like? Traditional? Unique?"

"You think the two are distinct?" he asked kindly, watching her with interest.

"Well, I... no, no not necessarily" she conceded, breathing in deeply.

"What about you?" he asked. "What kinds of names do you like?"

"Ones with meaning, ones which... which have hidden depths." She stated, smiling as she gazed down adoringly at her daughter. "I'd like her to have a name which is strong, meaningful, and... and just her, I guess." She stated, shrugging her shoulders slightly.

"A difficult task, I believe" Sherlock stated in a low voice, conscious of how easily awoken their child was. "But despite having known her for a very short period of time, there are some elements of her personality which are quite clear, and already rather prevalent" Sherlock turned his head from the baby and towards Joan, offering her an awkward smile. "She is brave, she is strong, and she is beautiful" he began slowly, glancing at her as he spoke each word. "She's also fiercely protective of you, Joan" he stated, turning back to face her, as she watched him with a confused and utterly perplexed expression. "Each time a doctor or nurse approached you, in order to take your blood or check your vitals, she would become unsettled and often upset. On one occasion, when I am certain she was asleep, a doctor came in to examine you, and as he rested his hand on your stomach, you cried out slightly. Just slightly, of course. As if you were mildly upset or pained by his actions. And yet, as you did so, she began to cry. She cried louder, and in a more frightened and panicked tone than I have heard from her. She was only calmed when the doctor had left your side, and when I picked her up and held her close to you. I lay her next to you, just to your left, and she fell asleep." Joan watched Sherlock as he spoke, and noticed how his eyes were full of warmth and care as he spoke, staring at awe at the little girl in front of him. "She adores you, Joan." He stated finally, turning towards her as he spoke.

Joan nodded slowly, and felt herself becoming tearful. Mainly because she was touched by Sherlock's words, and her daughter's actions. But she was also saddened by the fact that she had spent so little of the first hours of her daughter's life with her. In this sense, she mused, she felt incredibly grateful for her love. Even now, as she watched Sherlock holding their baby, she still could not quite believe that they were parents. Despite having known she was pregnant, having discussed the baby, and made the arrangements, she still could not quite believe that she was a mother, and that Sherlock was a father. The baby's presence made her pregnancy and their parenthood seem much more real, as did how weak and aching she was currently feeling. The baby was beautiful. She had dark hair and beautiful skin, and her eyes were the same shape and colour of Sherlock's. She had delicate features, which were a combination of both of her parents, and her hands and tiny fingers were clasped tightly upon the blanket, in a way which reminded Joan very much of Sherlock's manner of sleep.

"Strength, love, beauty..." She began, running over the words as she gazed at her daughter. For some reason, those words had conjured up memories of Grecian heroines. Beautiful women with incredible talents, independent and strong, and shrouded in white. "What about Helena?" She asked, her eyes widening and Sherlock looked towards her.

He smiled warmly, nodding once as he glanced down towards the baby. "Helena Watson" he stated, holding her up slightly as he repeated the name a couple of times. "It's beautiful, Joan. It's perfect." He stated, his eyes not leaving the baby.

"Actually, I-" Joan began, breathing in slowly as she considered how to word her next statement. "I was hoping that, if you're happy, of course, and if you agree-"

"Helena Angusette Watson?" Sherlock asked, turning towards her and smiling lightly. Joan was too nervous to laugh, and so simply exhaled quickly and smiled.

"No, no not quite" she stated, shifting slightly in her position, so that she was leaning slightly away from Sherlock, as she did not wish him to feel crowded or pressured by her next request. "I was hoping that she could be Helena Holmes."

Sherlock's eyes widened, his cheeks flushed, and his lips parted slightly. He appeared to be confused for a moment, but recovered himself quickly, and wore an expression which seemed to be a mixture of fear and adoration. He looked from Joan to the baby, and then back to Joan.

"Are you quite sure, Joan?" he asked gently, holding the baby against his chest. "I mean... I quite understand if you wish her to have your surname, and I assure you that I would not attest-"

"Sherlock" Joan stated slowly, pressing her lips together as she leaned closer to him, placing one hand on his back and the other on the blankets which protected their baby. "She is part of us both. Her existence is due to us both, and not just biologically. You have been... you have been wonderful, Sherlock, truly. From the moment you found out, the moment you realised-" Joan paused for a moment, as she unwillingly cast her mind back to the event in Ms Lake's office all those months ago. "From the moment you realised that I was... that we were going to have a child, you did everything you could to help me. To help us both" she stated, running her fingers gently across the face of their newborn daughter.

"Of course I did, Joan, I would never-"

"I know" she responded immediately, casting her glance towards him. "Despite the... confusion of our relationship, and the fact that you pride yourself in your independence and the fact that you are unattached, the moment you found out that you were going to become a father, you did absolutely everything in your power to... to make it possible for us to have her, for her to be safe, and for her to be loved." Joan paused for a moment, waiting until Sherlock turned to face her. "You said to me once, several months ago, that you felt honoured to be the father of my child" she began, smiling slightly. "Sherlock, I would be honoured if you would allow our daughter to have your name." She stated kindly.

Sherlock watched her carefully, and she saw how his eyes softened and warmed at the thought. She had been thinking about this for a while, and was considering when the bes time was to broach the subject. "But if you aren't comfortable with-"

"No, Joan, I-" Sherlock began, struggling to find the words. "I apologise, it's just that... I always assumed that you would wish the child to have your surname. Which I would, of course, have supported wholeheartedly." He paused for a moment, nodding rapidly, before facing her directly. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Joan smiled slowly, her eyes shining and her skin glowing. She appeared, physically, to be recovered. An illusion which, as Sherlock knew, did not mean that she was completely better. "Yes, Sherlock" she stated. "I would... it would be wonderful."

Sherlock smiled at her warmly, nodding once again, before inhaling deeply. "I... it would be..." he began, once more struggling to find the appropriate words to convey his feelings. "I am very grateful, Joan, for this gesture. And I would be honoured if... if this is what you truly want." He stated simply, watching her carefully for a response. Joan leaned closer to him, pressing her lips to his cheek, before leaning forward to face her child.

"I think we're happy with that, aren't we?" she whispered to her daughter, just as she began to stir. The baby opened her eyes to the sound of her mother's voice, and began to wriggle slightly beneath her blanket. "Helena" Joan stated, smiling at the tired infant. "Helena Holmes."


	31. Chapter 30

*** A/N: Hey everyone! Thank you so much for continuing to read the story, I hope it is okay. Also, thank you for all of your reviews, advice and encouragement, it has meant a lot. Again, I am sorry that I had not been updating as regularly, I am still adjusting to my new job. This chapter will be followed by an epilogue, which will be posted in a couple of hours, concluding the story. So thank you once again for all of your support!

I have been asked by Alexa (a reviewer) to consider writing a piece which will first explore the developing romantic relationship between Sherlock and Joan, and then feature her pregnancy. Thank you for the prompt Alexa, if it is something that you and others would like, I would be more than happy to write it :) I have some basic ideas of what would happen (and I have an idea of the main case which will be the framework for the story). If you would like me to write this, then I will, as I would love to try something slightly different!

Again, thank you so much for your feedback. Your compliments and kindness has been wonderful, as has your advice. If there are any problems/issues/things you think I could improve on, please do let me know. All advice is gratefully received!

Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy the final instalments :)

-HQ21

Joan and Helena remained in hospital for a few days, as a precaution. During this time, Sherlock did not leave their side. He remained with them during the days and nights, leaving only to make phone calls to friends and associates, and to allow Joan some privacy when required. Joan's mother and stepfather were away on business, believing that due to the fact that Joan was not due to have the baby for another few weeks, they would be able to go away without missing anything. Sherlock had called them shortly after Joan regained consciousness, and they informed him that they would try to catch the earliest flight back they could. After hanging up the phone, Sherlock scrolled through his contacts list and found his index finger hovering over his father's details. After a few moments he sighed slowly, locking the phone and placing it back in his pocket, before rejoining Joan and his daughter. There would be time for calling his father later.

The health of both mother and daughter improved markedly by the hour, and medical staff were finally happy to discharge them on the fourth morning, which Joan was grateful for. Joan was able to get some much needed rest, which she instantly felt guilty for. If she ever woke to find one of the nurses or midwives doing something with her daughter, she would immediately mumble some tired apologies, and immediately offer to take over. The staff here were very kind and gracious, and assured her that her daughter would be best helped if her mother was well rested and feeling as happy and healthy as she could be. Joan understood this, both personally and professionally. She knew that the best way to help her daughter was to first help herself. But that did not make it any easier. After the third occasion, and third reassurance, she gradually began to find herself feeling less guilty. She was feeling much more rested, and able to think more clearly and practically than she had been able to in recent weeks. After the nurses were finished with helping the baby, Joan would hold her for several hours, watching her as she rested, and speaking to her gently. Sherlock watched this with interest, although he occasionally made an excuse to leave the room temporarily, to allow Joan the opportunity to speak to her daughter as openly as she felt able. Joan knew this, and was grateful for it. As he attempted this for the third time, she asked him to stay. Sherlock was grateful for this, and perched himself on the edge of the bed as they spoke to their daughter, whose bright eyes surveyed them with interest.

On the morning that Joan and Helena were due to be discharged, there was a knock at the door as Sherlock was packing some of Joan's items, and the latter was securing Helena in her car seat. Joan turned slowly towards the door, as Sherlock walked quickly to it, opening it with care, before moving aside to reveal the visitor.

"Mornin'" beamed Captain Gregson, as he entered the room with a smile and an over-sized teddy bear. Joan smiled, and found herself breaking out into laughter. The sight of the Captain hugging the giant bear was priceless, they seemed quite attached to one another. "How are you all doin'?" He asked, passing the bear to a slightly confused Sherlock, making his way over to Joan and the baby.

"Hi Captain" Joan smiled warmly. "It's lovely to see you." Gregson nodded politely, placing one hand on Joan's shoulder and tilting her slightly towards him. She smiled, before turning towards him and returning his embrace, as Sherlock placed the bear on the ground and turned to face them. "Thank you for everything" she whispered, as he held her tighter. He knew that she was referring to his assistance in helping to find her after her kidnapping ordeal. She closed her eyes as she leaned into his shoulder, before he slowly moved away and smiled down at her.

"My pleasure. I'm just glad you're all okay" he stated, his gaze moving from Joan to the baby. "She's beautiful, Miss Watson". He continued, moving slowly towards the car seat. "Sherlock told me her name was Helena, it's beautiful." Gregson placed his hand upon Helena's own, before running a finger down her cheek. Joan nodded, before turning towards Gregson with a slightly confused expression.

"He... you called Captain Gregson? I thought you guys-"

"Yes" began Sherlock placing his arms by his sides and tapping the side of his leg nervously with his fingers. "Whilst you were... were unconscious I called Captain Gregson and we discussed-" he broke off, sighing before continuing to speak, in a much quicker manner than before. "I apologised to Captain Gregson for my conduct, for my attitude when you were... when were trying to find you. When I told him of the events of the night, and your current condition, he came over immediately. He stayed with me for several hours, leaving just before you awoke. After you gained consciousness, I called him once more, informing him of your progress and of what we discussed."

Joan turned towards Gregson, placing her hand on his arm and squeezing gently. "Thank you" she said simply. "It means a lot that-" like Sherlock, she struggled to continue. She sighed, looking from Gregson to Sherlock and then back to the Captain. "Thank you for making sure he wasn't alone." Gregson nodded, and offered Joan a small, reassuring smile.

"Like we all said at dinner, you guys are not alone." He spoke simply, yet with conviction. Sherlock and Joan could tell that he meant every word, and they were grateful for it. "Now, I thought that, instead of having a taxi ride to the brownstone, I could drive you?" He asked, looking from Joan to Sherlock.

"Thank you, Captain" said Sherlock in a low yet grateful tone. "We would appreciate that." Gregson walked across the room and towards Sherlock, who was staring at him with a confused and slightly guilty expression. Gregson extended his hand, which Sherlock took immediately. "Thank you for your continued support."

"Pleasure" Gregson replied, leaning down to pick up Joan's overnight bag. "Are you guys ready?"

"Just about" Joan replied, adjusting the blanket and ensuring that Helena was securely fastened in her seat. Sherlock moved around the bed, dragging the teddy as he did so.

"Captain, would you mind carrying this to the car please? Watson will need some assistance with the seat."

"I'm fine, I can-"

"He's right, Miss Watson" Gregson interceded. "After what... with what happened, it would be best if you let us do the heavy lifting" he stated, looking at her with a paternal expression. "Okay?"

Joan sighed slowly, pursing her lips together before nodding. She turned towards Helena, removing her hand from the seat, and leaned in to kiss her. Gregson picked up the bear and Joan's overnight bag, whilst Sherlock moved towards the bed and lifted Helena in her car seat, but not before helping Joan with her coat and passing her her handbag. Joan smiled at him appreciatively, before allowing her glance to fall onto her alert daughter.

"Everything is fine, Watson, alright?" Sherlock spoke gently and reassuringly. "We will be at the brownstone soon, and then you can make yourself more comfortable, more at home. And I will make you some of that medicinal tea of your mother's concoction, alright?" Joan smiled, nodding slowly.

"The last time you tried to make that we almost had to have the kitchen refurnished." She stated with levity. "We won't have a repeat of last time, will we?"

"I assure you, Watson, that the kitchen will remain quite intact." He stated in a quiet tone, humour evident in his voice.

Sherlock and Joan exchanged a look for a moment, one of reassurance and mutual understanding. They were telling each other that it was going to be alright. They were only broken from their non-verbal exchange by the gentle sound of Captain Gregson's voice calling to them from the doorway.

"Is everything alright?"

"Perfectly, Captain" Responded Sherlock immediately, his eyes not leaving Joan's face. "Thank you." He then turned on the spot, holding Helena's car seat in his right hand, and placed his left hand on Joan's lower back, as he gently guided her from the room. "And you are quite sure you feel able to walk-"

"Yes, Sherlock" she replied, for the third time in the last hour. "I am perfectly capable." Sherlock observed her for a moment, before nodding in satisfaction, and following Captain Gregson from the building and towards his car. Sherlock and Joan exchanged a satisfied look as they observed the sight of the burly detective hoisting the brown bear over his shoulder. Joan bit her lip to suppress her laughter, leading Sherlock to attempt to create an impersonation of the Captain, in order to make her laugh out loud. Joan gently and half-heartedly reprimanded him, breaking into a smile at the look of childish satisfaction and impish humour which graced Sherlock's face. As they walked through the corridors, out of the building and towards the car, Sherlock's hand never left Joan's lower back, until he guided her gently into her seat.

The drive to the brownstone took slightly longer than they had anticipated, due to some unexpected late-morning traffic. They arrived home shortly after eleven o'clock, and were helped to the door by Captain Gregson, who took their things inside for them and left them in the corridor.

"Now, I know you guys are probably exhausted and would like to get settled. So I will leave you both to it. But if you need anything, if there are any problems, you call me, okay?" He implored, glancing between Sherlock and Joan. Sherlock nodded gratefully, extending his hand towards Gregson, who shook it warmly.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay, Captain?" Joan asked politely, walking over to Sherlock's side and placing one hand upon the car-seat.

Gregson smiled at her kindly before replying. "I can't imagine how exhausted you must be. Both of you" he stated, glancing from Joan to Sherlock. "But I know how important it is to get settled and to relax, especially straight after coming out of hospital. You guys need some time to settle back in, get comfortable, get into your routine, I... I had this with my wife, I get it, I know it's nice not to be surrounded by people. This time is about you guys, the three of you. And I'm not gonna get in the way of that." He spoke gently, and Sherlock lowered his head before nodding gratefully, as Joan thanked the Captain once more. "But you call me if you need anything alright? Anything at all." They both assured him that he would, and he departed, kissing Joan on the cheek and crouching down to bid farewell to Helena, who watched him with interest. "She... she's so alert, isn't she? She seems so smart. It's almost like she's doing your deductive thing right now" he stated, turning to Sherlock.

"Quite possibly, Captain" he responded, gazing down at his daughter. "She certainly appears to be alert and intelligent" he lifted his gaze from his daughter, looking towards Gregson as he responded. "But she has many other wonderful qualities too, which will not go with acknowledgement." Gregson nodded slowly in understanding, before saying goodbye again, and leaving the brownstone.

Sherlock turned from the closed door to Joan, who was watching him with tired eyes as she removed her coat. "Watson, I, there is something I must mention before-"

Sherlock was cut off by the sound of footsteps merrily descending the stairs, causing Joan to turn around immediately as she allowed her coat to fall from her shoulders. As she gathered the clothing in her arms and placed it on the table to the side, she turned back to find herself face to face with a beaming Miss Hudson.

"Miss Watson!" she said with excitement, wrapping her arms around Joan with care. "How are you?" She asked in a much calmer and more collected voice, as she held Joan from her.

"Good, yeah, fine, thank you" Joan replied, glancing towards an apologetic and sheepish looking Sherlock, before turning back to face Miss Hudson.

"I... I hope you don't mind, it's just... well, Sherlock called me and told me what happened, and I offered to come over and make sure everything was in order for when you came back" she smiled, nodding to Sherlock before glancing back at Joan. "Everything has been cleaned and tidied, including upstairs" she began, indicating each room as she spoke. "I did your room for you, Miss Watson" she stated, causing Joan to inhale sharply. She had been thinking about her bedroom almost constantly since she was told that she would be discharged from hospital. She found her thoughts drifting to the bed, the blood, the fear. She had been trying to brace herself, prepare herself to return to her own private space in the house, but was afraid that she would be unable to. Sherlock evidently sensed her discomfort, and moved towards her, placing his free arm across her shoulders, and standing by her side. "I... I hope you don't mind..." continued Miss Hudson in a slow and slightly confused manner.

"No, no, not at all-" Joan responded, speaking quickly. "No, I... I just... It was a mess, that's all, I just-"

"Oh, don't worry about that, Miss Watson" she replied simply. "I had to throw out some of the bedding, but everything else has been laundered. The sheets changed, clothes hung up, everything cleaned and polished. The moses basket is also in there now, alright?" she smiled warmly at Joan, which was returned.

"Thank you, Miss Hudson. I'm sorry you had to-"

"Oh, please, don't apologise. It was nothing, really." She stated in a calm and compassionate tone, one which Joan had not heard her use before, but was not surprised that she possessed.

Throughout this exchange, Sherlock had been drawing Joan closer to him, and rubbing her arm reassuringly as she spoke. She felt herself feeling calmer, and much more at ease under his warm and comforting touch. She leaned towards him, nodded towards Miss Hudson, and thanked her once more.

"Aww, how is she?" Miss Hudson asked, dropping to her knees and gazing adoringly at the baby. "Oh, isn't she beautiful? She's just... Oh, I can't even-"

"Thank you" Joan smiled, suppressing a slightly giggle. She was in complete awe of her infant daughter, and was not surprised to find that other people were too. A lot of people seemed to gravitate towards infants, showering them with attention and adoration and praise. Helena was certainly receiving plenty of attention and compliments, and seemed comfortable being around new people, who she watched and surveyed with interest. Her eyes were keen and alert, and she seemed to be admiring both Miss Hudson and her new surroundings. Joan smiled warmly at her.

"Right" said Miss Hudson suddenly, rising from her kneeling position. "I have made a start on lunch for you both, I thought you may be hungry, and-"

"That was very thoughtful, thank you" responded Joan, glancing from the baby to Miss Hudson. "We're both very grateful for everything you've done, really."

"That's alright" she beamed, embracing Joan once more. "It's just... it's so nice to be able to help you. After everything you and Sherlock have done for me, it's great to be able to try to... to make it up to you."

"There's nothing to make up for" Joan stated simply. "It's what friends do." Miss Hudson smiled at this, nodding sweetly, and inwardly smiling at the fact that Joan Watson considered her to be a friend.

"Well, I... I should probably get back to preparing lunch, so-"

"You will be joining us, won't you?" Joan asked kindly, as she knelt down and began to remove Helena from her car seat. "It would be lovely to catch up, to talk. If you're free, of course."

"No, yes, absolutely-" Miss Hudson stammered, clasping her hands together and darting nervous glances between Sherlock and Joan. "But are you sure I... I mean, I don't want to intrude, I just-"

"I assure you, Miss Hudson, there is no intrusion" responded Sherlock, placing the empty seat on the ground and standing next to Joan, who was cradling their sleeping daughter. "Miss Watson and I would be delighted if you would join us."

"Yes. We can introduce you to the baby, and thank you properly" Joan stated, adjusting Helena.

Miss Hudson appeared to be quite touched, nodding gratefully and thanking them both, as she turned to make her way back towards the kitchen.

"Oh, before I forget-" she began, turning back to face Sherlock. "It arrived yesterday, and I had the delivery guys take it to the spot you wanted. It's beautiful, Sherlock, really. It looks wonderful, really finishes off the room." Sherlock nodded appreciatively at Miss Hudson, who then wandered through to the kitchen. Joan tilted her head to face Sherlock and looked at him with a quizzical expression.

"What was she talking about?" she asked in a low, kind voice.

"I... I have a surprise for you, Watson. A gift, of sorts, if you will." He began, shifting slightly in his position and leaning back on his heels, as he often did when he was nervous. "I... it isn't much, you understand, but I thought you would... I thought it would be of some use to you."

"Okay" Joan smiled sweetly, speaking in a reassuring manner. "So it's downstairs right?" Sherlock nodded quickly, glancing from Joan to the staircase, then back to Joan and their baby. "Shall we?"

"Yes, yes of course." Sherlock stated, placing his hand on her lower back and guiding her through the rooms towards the staircase.

They walked slowly and cautiously down the stairs, Joan's gaze falling from her daughter to the steps, as she carefully navigated her way to the bottom. She was still feeling very tired, and was still getting used to walking around, but Sherlock was with her, and she knew she was supported and safe. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock turned to the left and guided Joan through to the nursery, which was warmly lit and had been recently cleaned. It took her a few moments to notice the difference, the new addition. But once she did, she felt an incredible draw towards it, and walked over to the new item with her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

The space opposite the crib, which was occupied by two arm chairs and a table, had been added to. The chairs had been moved further apart, and a beautiful, white chaise-lounge was displayed between them. The colour of the wood and fabric matched the décor and the room perfectly. It had dark wooden legs and cream upholstery. There were a couple of large, soft cushions on the couch itself, which set it off wonderfully. The dark wooden parts of the piece of furniture bore an intricate design: hand-carved dragon flies, bees, and butterflies, all floating around the leaves and flowers which had been carved into the wood. It was the most beautiful thing Joan had ever seen.

"Sherlock, this... this is incredible, I... how did you-" Joan spoke rapidly, holding the baby to her chest as she moved slowly towards the couch, running her hand along the hand-carved patterns and soft material. Sherlock followed her slowly and with caution, pausing a few steps away from her.

"An associate of mine in London is particularly gifted in the field of restoration and hand-carving. I arranged for this piece to be made for you a few months ago. We were discussing the room, and how it could be improved" he paused, nodding slowly before continuing to speak. He watched Joan as she admired the furniture, and tilted his head downwards as she turned towards him, as if he was embarrassed to meet her stare. "I thought... there is a bed in here, of course, to rest upon. But I felt that... I thought you would appreciate something slightly different. Somewhere you could come and sit, quietly, with the baby. The armchairs are quite sufficient, of course, but I... I thought that this may be good if you wished to lie down, to... to rest, I... I did not want you to be restrained at all, and I-"

"Sherlock" spoke gently, as he continued to ramble. She called his name a couple more times, before slowly walking across the room and standing in front of him. They were just inches apart, and he raised his head slowly to meet her stare. He looked at her with nervousness and apprehension, which frustrated him deeply. He had no idea why he was struggling to communicate with Joan, why he was finding this so difficult.

"This is one of the most beautiful things I... It is wonderful, Sherlock, thank you." She stated, seeing that her words were unsettling him slightly. She leaned forward, taking great care to ensure that Helena remained supported, and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. "Thank you" she repeated, offering him a small, warm smile, before placing her own hand in his and clasping them together tightly, a gesture which he returned. "Will you come and sit with us?"

Sherlock's eyes widened and he nodded immediately, and for the first time that day, it was Joan who was leading Sherlock in a new direction. Sherlock indicated for her to sit at the end of the chaise-lounge, where the support and cushions were, which she accepted. She sat herself down and leaned back slightly into the comfortable and welcoming material, closing her eyes briefly in satisfaction. Sherlock sat by her side, a few inches away, causing Joan to re-open her eyes slowly.

"Are you okay?" She asked, watching him tiredly as she adjusted her hold on Helena. Sherlock turned towards her immediately, his eyes wide and his expression perplexed.

"Of course, Watson, yes. What do you-"

"You... If you don't want to sit with us, it's okay, I... I understand that you need your space. Especially after being caged in my hospital room for-"

"I assure you, Watson, I was not caged. And I do not need space, ever, not from you." He spoke in a low yet gentle voice, and was this time confident enough to meet her gaze. "I just... after what you have been through I... I thought that you would wish to have some space of your own, to have a place to retreat to, to-"

Joan turned to the side, facing Sherlock directly, and edging slightly closer to him. Sherlock tensed slightly as her thigh brushed his leg, before instantly relaxing, and feeling comforted by the familiar contact. "I do not need to retreat from you, Sherlock. I don't want to, I... I want to be with you, I love being with you." He looked up at her with curious eyes, and held her stare for several moments, until she began to speak again. "We keep doing this, don't we? Assuming that the other needs space or time or... or something. But they don't. I don't. I don't want space away from you, I want space next to you, with you." She continued, speaking in the same gentle tone as she had used before. Sherlock looked at her with interest, nodding slowly in understanding. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes" he responded instantly, in a low yet confident tone. "Very much, Watson" he continued, as his glance fell to their daughter. "Very much."

"Then stay, be with me. With us." She stated, raising the baby slightly. Sherlock was still staring at Helena, his warm eyes watching her with interest, darting across her small body with each movement and each breath. He looked from her to Joan, who was looking at him kindly.

"Always, Watson" he replied, as he stared into her eyes. Joan felt the same wave of emotion, the same pull towards him, as she had felt a few months ago when she had given him the amended picture, and they had shared a deep, passionate kiss. Her eyes widened and her breathing became slow and deep, and she found herself gazing at Sherlock with absolute awe and need. Sherlock leaned closer to her, placing his left hand on her cheek, and drawing her towards him. Joan held Helena tightly in her arms, as she closed her eyes and leaned in to the kiss. Sherlock was kissing her gently, tentatively, just like he had began to that night, before things became more passionate. This time, Sherlock and Joan simply continued to kiss in a slow, gentle and romantic manner, as he ran his fingers down her cheek and to the back of her head, easing her closer to him, and deeper into the kiss. Sherlock was the first one to break the kiss, just over a minute after it had begun, as he turned his head slightly to the side and continued to hold her cheek in his hand. "My dear Watson, I... I am so glad that you are... that you are still-"

And there it was. Joan realised exactly what it was that had been bothering Sherlock: he was struggling with the fact that she had been so ill that night, so near to not recovering at all. It had undoubtedly traumatised him, seeing her like that, and the pressure of having to deliver the baby and ensure her own health must have been overwhelming for him. Sherlock seldom discussed his emotions, certainly not in any great detail or in a true and open manner. Joan could recall a handful of times when he did talk to her openly and honestly, but that only ever occurred when not doing so was no longer an option. He was opening up to her now, and she was glad of it.

"I'm still here, Sherlock. I'm fine, Helena is fine, and so are you." She spoke gently, placing her own hand over his, which she drew to her mouth and kissed gently. "We're fine, and we will continue to be fine. Alright?" she spoke with great warmth and kindness, and could feel Sherlock nodding in to her hand.

"Thank you, Watson" he said simply, kissing her own hand chastely in return. Joan offered him a small and weary smile, nodding at him in response, before entwining their own hands and leaning into him. He shifted slightly to allow her head to rest on his shoulder, and he drew one arm around her, holding her close to him. Joan opened her eyes, and shifted slightly, moving Helena so that she was resting in her father's left arm. She continued to sleep peacefully, even as Joan adjusted the blanket around her, and Sherlock shifted slightly to allow himself the best possible grip on her. Joan brought her legs up onto the couch, resting them at an angle, as she leaned into Sherlock and placed her arm lovingly across his chest, her hand resting on their daughter. Sherlock stared at the sleeping infant for a few moments, before allowing his gaze to drift over to Joan who, by this time, had fallen fast asleep.


	32. Epilogue

*** A/N: Hey everyone! This is the final chapter, I hope you enjoy it, thank you so much for your support! I am figuring out some of the details of the next story (as prompted by Alexa, who I am very grateful to) and will upload the first chapter of the new story tomorrow morning. Again, if there are any issues/comments/pieces of advice please don't hesitate to let me know :)

Thank you, and thanks again for sticking with the story :)

\- HQ21

The next twelve months were a whirl-wind of education and excitement, and provided Sherlock and Joan with nervous fear and overwhelming joy in equal measure. Their daughter hit her milestones early, and demonstrated a keen intellect and incredible sense of initiative even in her young age. By the time she was six months old, she was already beginning to walk, and had carefully devised a way of escaping from her crib and navigating across the room and towards the door. Although there was no way she could leave the room itself, her curiosity and mysterious Houdini-like abilities frightened Sherlock and Joan, who had to try several different methods and approaches in order to keep their child safe in her crib, and prevent her from unattended exploration.

When Helena was four weeks old, Sherlock and Joan decided to enlist the offered help of Miss Hudson in looking after her during their working hours. Miss Hudson was thrilled, and moved into one of the spare bedrooms downstairs to be closer to her charge. Miss Hudson adored children and, despite her eccentricities, was an extremely intelligent, competent and thoughtful individual who Sherlock and Joan were certain would be a positive influence and wonderful relationship with their daughter. They wanted her to realise just how loved and cared for she was. Joan believed that Sherlock's eagerness to appoint such an individual as a nanny was in order to ensure that Helena did not experience anything like his own upbringing, which he still refused to discuss. She accepted this, simply making him aware of the fact that she would be willing to listen whenever he was ready to talk. Helena and Miss Hudson got on wonderfully, and the latter had already began to read to her in Greek and Latin at bedtimes, much to Joan's amusement. Sherlock believed that their child could be 'fluent' by the time she was three, which Joan branded ridiculous. However, Helena did seem to enjoy the reading, closing her eyes dreamily once Miss Hudson began. Helena adored being read to, much to Sherlock and Joan's happiness. They would spend long periods of time with her at all times of the day, if she was restless, playful or upset, and found that she was most relaxed when she was sitting or lying across their laps, listening as they read to her. She would gurgle and smile with satisfaction as each page was turned, and something new was spoken. The first ever book which was read to her was the one which was given to Joan by the kindly book-seller, and which she absolutely adored.

The books that Joan bought that day had been taken to the house shortly after Helena's arrival, and were carefully arranged on the bookshelf above her cot. They filled the space and complemented the room perfectly, and Joan stood gazing at it admiringly for a short period of time, before picking up the beautiful first-edition and beginning to read it to her restless daughter. It had a remarkably soothing effect on her, which made it the 'go-to book' when she felt restless. With the books also came the jewellery box containing Joan's gift to Sherlock. He admitted to having already opened it, apologising to Joan for doing so, and explaining that he did so to ascertain its importance to their investigation. Joan understood, of course, and assured him that no explanation or apology was necessary. Instead, she opened the box and offered it to him, which he accepted willingly. Three weeks later, he had an identical one made in white gold, with their daughter's birthstone. However, it was a very different type of gift. When Helena was three months old, and the ring arrived and was to his satisfaction, he took Joan and Helena to dinner at Joan's favourite restaurant, on a warm February evening. Shortly after ordering their dinner, Sherlock asked Joan to pass him the bumblebee toy which he had bought for Helena to play with if she had gotten restless (the toy was a knitted bee, Joan's first attempt, and was adored by Helena). Joan picked up the toy, and was offering it to her daughter when she saw the shining ring which was attached to the bee. It was white gold, with their daughter's birthstone in the centre, surrounded by diamonds. As Joan carefully extracted the ring, she noticed an inscription on the inside of the ring, which she held to the candle to view it in the best light. Inscribed into the ring were the dates of Joan's birth, and the birth of their daughter. Joan smiled to herself at the sweetness of the engraving, and made a mental note to have Sherlock's own date of birth inscribed in it too, which she did, a few days later. She held the ring delicately in her hand, before realised exactly what it was. It was an engagement ring. She looked up towards Sherlock, who was clearly finding her confusion enjoyable. She attempted to speak, but found herself unable to form any words. Instead, she looked at him with a mixture of awe and concern. He smiled at her, in a much warmer and relaxed manner than she had ever seen him before. Instead of speaking, she simply nodded, holding out the ring in front of her. Sherlock reached across her table, took the ring and her left hand, and placed it on her wedding finger. They remained, for several minutes, holding hands across the table and staring into each other's eyes, and were so completely consumed by their love for one another that they were oblivious to the loud cheers and congratulations of the rest of the diners.

Despite the demanding nature of their jobs, Sherlock and Joan found that the odd hours they worked actually complemented their parenting style: they would often work during the day when their daughter was resting, and then return at night to look over evidence or unwind, during which time they would be able to spend precious hours with their daughter. On one occasion, when Helena was eight months old, she woke up at two o'clock in the morning, and was brought upstairs my her mother, who rocked her gently to sleep as she and Sherlock relaxed after solving a particularly trying case. The little family remained together all night, until bright sunlight flooded the ornately-decorated room, and Helena began to stir once more, ready to enjoy the new day. "She's just like you" Joan had stated to Sherlock, who looked at her quizzically, "unable to sleep through til a reasonable hour, out of the fear that she will miss something."

All in all, the first year they spent with their daughter was wonderful, and surpassed even their wildest dreams and imaginations. Her presence, her personality and her existence provided them with an incredible degree of happiness, which could not possibly be put into words. So many aspects of their lives had been improved: not only were they blessed with the beautiful, intelligent and extremely compassionate child who had entered their lives, but they had gained a greater understanding of the nature of love and of adoration, which had helped them to understand their own feelings for one another, which was one of the factors which led to their engagement. And a few months later, on a cold November day, Joan and Sherlock were celebrating another milestone: their daughter's first birthday.

Miss Hudson had left the brownstone early in the morning to collect some of the food (including a bumblebee-themed cake and set of matching cupcakes), and Joan was out collecting some additional items for the party itself, including one of their daughter's gifts, which had arrived a couple days later than expected. It was something which Joan had picked out personally, and had shipped from England. It was a white-gold bracelet with small gems which were the birthstone of Helena. Although the bracelet was actually for an adult, it was still something which Joan wanted her daughter to have in her possession. She and Sherlock had their rings, and she felt happy that her daughter now had something of her own which matched the rest of the jewellery. Although Joan had no intention of overly spoiling their daughter, or lavishing her with expensive gifts, this was an exception. It was chosen because of its personal and sentimental value, rather than the financial one, and would be kept in a safe place until their daughter was older. Sherlock had asked Joan if she would not rather wait for their daughter to be slightly older before making the purchase. Joan addressed this concern immediately, explaining that she wished to buy it as soon as possible because both of their rings came from the same manufacturer, and she wanted their daughter's item to come from the same place too. "I know it sounds silly" she began "but I-" Joan was stopped from continuing by Sherlock's kind smile and the gentle shaking of his head. He told her that he 'quite understood', and thought it was a wonderful idea.

So whilst Miss Hudson and Joan were out running some last-minute errands, before the party which was to take place in four hours time, Sherlock was in the brownstone, getting things ready with Helena. This was a task which the consulting detective, despite his earlier assurances to both women, found to be incredibly tricky. Sherlock had successfully moved all the furniture around, and set up the main areas of the room, whilst Helena was asleep. However, she woke up slightly earlier than anticipated, and was eager to join her father in the living area. He assented, of course, and carried her and her bumblebee-toy upstairs. As he carried her, he marvelled at how much she had changed in the past year. Helena had a beautiful complexion and soft, dark hair, which was beginning to curl slightly at the bottom. Her eyes were her father's, and they had similar shaped ears and noses, but the rest of her was undoubtedly Joan. Helena was incredibly intelligent, in terms of both initiative and awareness. As well as being intelligent, she was incredibly compassionate too, once crawling over to a crying child who had been pushed over in the park by an older boy. As Helena sat by the sobbing child, the offending boy approached his victim once more, only to find himself faced with Helena, who stood unsteadily yet confidently in front of the sitting child, and watched the older boy with an intense look of reprimand which Sherlock recognised instantly. Joan had given him the same look plenty of times. As Helena smiled and gurgled, and pulled herself tiredly into her father's arms, he found himself completely mesmerised by how wonderful she was, and how much she had developed. Her personality was the only constant, and reminded him very much of her mother. He was glad.

Helena spent the next hour or so playing with the bumblebee-toy, sitting quite contently amongst a pile of cushions which Sherlock had organised on the floor for her, whilst he busied himself with blowing up some balloons and hanging up banners. He watched his daughter closely as he did so, glancing towards her every couple of seconds. Despite being remarkably well-behaved, she was cheeky and mischievous, often waiting until her parents were not looking before doing something she knew she was not allowed to do. And Sherlock knew that today would be no exception. As he climbed up one of the ladders by the bookcase in order to secure a banner slightly above the fireplace, he looked down to find Helena pushing one of the cushions aside, and pulling herself up on to her feet.

"Helena" he called to her, in a curious yet confident tone. The child turned instantly, watching her father with bright eyes. He knew that look too. It was his own. "Helena" he repeated in a tone containing a clear, firm sense of warning. Helena continued to watch her father with interest, before walking quickly over to the other bookcase, her small legs unsteady as she attempted to run. "Helena-" Sherlock began, jumping from the top step of the ladder and walking briskly over to his daughter, who had been attempting to climb onto one of the chairs next to the bookcase. To his utter amazement, by the time he was able to reach her, she had managed it. She was kneeling on the seat, pulling herself up on the back of the chair, and reaching for a book which was displayed on one of the shelves behind her. "Sweetheart, what are you-" Sherlock began, lifting her up and turning her to face him. She wriggled slightly in his arms, before turning and leaning back towards the bookcase, muttering in frustration as she reached out her tiny hand towards the shelf.

"Buh-buk-buh" she stated confidently, as she admirably continued to attempt to reach for the book. Sherlock watched her for a moment, and noted with interest that she was reaching towards one book in particular. She had not been attempting to pick up any book, but wished to examine one specifically. Sherlock found this interesting. Her ability to decide on one particular book was fascinating: the shelf that she was leaning towards contained old books in dark and faded colours, and she wished to choose one. Sherlock shifted her slightly in his arms, before carrying her back to the book shelf and holding her out towards the second shelf. "Helena, which book would you-" Helena did not wait for her father to finish and, instead, reached out instantly for a book, placing one hand on the spine and running her fingers down it. She then pulled away from her father, and attempted to use both hands to grab the book. "Alright, okay, this one, yes?" Sherlock asked gently, placing his fingers on the top of the book and tilting it towards him. He could feel Helena bouncing excitedly against his hip as he extracted the book, and carried it and his daughter across the room.

Sherlock had not even looked at the book yet, as he had been preoccupied with the excited movements of his little girl, who was desperately trying to relieve him of it. "Yes, Helena, you may see the book" he began, speaking to her with kindness and warmth as he sat himself in his armchair and settled her on his lap. She pressed her back against his chest and tilted her head slightly to the right, in the same way he had done when he was a child. Once she was comfortable, and had stopped wriggling, Sherlock turned the book over and glanced at the title for the first time. His eyes widened with interest and amusement, and he sighed contentedly to himself as he read and re-read the title of the book, which was embossed on the hardback front cover. _Grey's Anatomy_.

As Sherlock lifted the book to hand to his daughter, she pressed it down with both hands, forcing it back into his lap. She then turned to look up at him, before trying to open the cover with her right hand. She kept repeating the word "buk", which had been one of her first words, and looking from the textbook to her father with anticipation.

"Would you like me to read this book to you, Helena?" he asked gently, finding himself momentarily lost in his thoughts as he considered her book of choice. _Perhaps she will be more like her mother than either of us _realised, he thought. As he pondered this, his offer to read the text had caused the little girl to continue to bounce upon his knee with excitement. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, placing one arm around her waist to ensure that she remained on his lap, and secured the book with his other. "You know, this is rather more your mother's area than mine. And some of the illustrations are not suitable for-"

Helena was not waiting. Not for an explanation, and certainly not for an excuse. On her fourth attempt she successfully lifted the cover of the book, pushing a large amount of pages apart to reveal a particularly graphic drawing, which Sherlock turned past immediately, not even registering what it was. Instead, he flicked through a number of pages, until he came to a section which contained no illustrations, but plenty of text. Helena appreciated illustrations, but adored texts, She would often spend time gazing at the shapes of the words in her own books for longer amounts of time than she would spend considering the pictures. Therefore, Sherlock knew that this would satisfy her. For now, at least.

"If your mother asks, I shall deny this, Helena" he spoke in a low tone, as his daughter turned back to him with the same sparkling eyes and cheeky expression she bore earlier. Helena shifted in her seat, placing her thumb in her mouth, as she nestled into her father's lap, and rested her head against his stomach. Sherlock thought quickly, running his fingers along the page to smooth it out, and clearing his throat. He was not about to read a text of this description to an infant, and knew that Joan would most certainly not appreciate it. She once caught him showing their curious daughter the cover of _Lord of the Flies_, which she branded 'inappropriate' and 'insane' reading material for a child of eight months. Sherlock had simply replied that it was the book she had reached for, and he was investigating her curiosity. Joan smiled at this, kissed him warmly on the cheek, and congratulated their daughter for being able to wrap her father around her little finger. "Not many people can do that, you know, sweetheart" she said, kissing her daughter on the forehead, before the infant reached out towards her mother and rested her head in the crook of her neck. Sherlock watched this beautiful scene for a few moments, before asking if "reading the first chapter to her would be out of the question", which led to Joan taking the book from him and playfully slapping him with it on the arm.

"Okay" he began, placing his hand on her stomach to ensure that she would not fall from his lap, and beginning to read what he believed to be a 'child-friendly' version of this text. "The human body is a very interesting creation. It contains many important elements, including-"

Sherlock became so engaged in creating the child-friendly version for his daughter that he did not hear the opening of the front door, and the entrance of Joan and Miss Hudson. The two women were smiling at each other, and carrying several large bags between them. As they reached the entrance to the living area, Joan saw Sherlock and Helena in the seat, and held a hand out in front of Miss Hudson.

"Shh, let's not disturb them" she whispered, as she gazed upon the sweet scene with adoration. Miss Hudson nodded in assent, placing one of her heavier bags gently upon the ground, before joining Joan in the doorway and watching as Sherlock read to Helena.

"He's so wonderful with her, isn't he?" whispered Miss Hudson approvingly, her eyes not leaving the scene. "He's always reading to her, talking with her, walking her around the house and showing her things. She's very lucky to have him."

"Yeah" murmured Joan absent-mindedly, as she attempted to listen to what Sherlock was saying, but to no avail. "We both are." She smiled warmly, tilting her head to the side and closing her eyes briefly, before opening them in surprise and staring at the book in confusion. She placed her bags on the ground before slowly entering the room, drawing Sherlock's attention to her immediately. "Sherlock, is that _Grey's Anatomy_?" Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, before lowering his head briefly, and then looking back up towards Joan, and flashing her the same mischievous expression that their daughter had given him just a few minutes before.

"I'm afraid your reprimands and punishments must wait a while, Watson" he whispered humorously, returning her smile. "Our daughter is quite asleep."


End file.
